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VASSAR    STORIES 


VASSAR  STORIES 


GRACE   MARGARET   GALLAHER 


With  many  Illustrations 
From  Photographs 


Richard  G.  Badger  &  Co. 
BOSTON 

1900 


COPYRIGHT  1899  BY 
RICHARD  G.  BADGER  &  Co. 


All  Rights  Rexrved 


To '97 


921501 


CONTENTS 

¥ 


PAGE 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ROOM-MATES 3 

THE  MOULDERS  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION    ....  43 

HER   POSITION 67 

A  SENSE  OF   OBLIGATION 105 

NEITHER  A  LENDER  NOR  A  BORROWER  BE      .      .  125 

THE  CLAN 165 

AT  THE  FIRST  GAME 221 

ON  BACCALAUREATE  SUNDAY      .      .      .      .      .      .  239 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  DAISY  FIELD Frontispiece. 

SUNSET  HI-LL facing  page  44 

THE  ROAD  TO  SUNSET  HILL     .      .  "  "  44 

THE  VASSAR  LAKE "  "  68 

THE  LIBRARY "  "  106 

THE  LODGE "  "  106 

THE  GLEN "  "  126 

THE  MAIN  BUILDING       ....  "  "  168 

THE  OBSERVATORY "  "  168 

THE  GYMNASIUM "  "  200 

WATCHING  THE  BASKET-BALL  GAME  "  "  240 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CIRCLE       .  "  "  240 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF 
ROOM-MATES 


In   the   Matter  of  Room- 
mates 

IT  rained  dismally  the  Saturday  Ninety- 
blank  entered  college.  It  was  also  cold. 
There  was  a  confusion  about  rooms,  so  half 
the  class  were  homeless  till  night,  and  a 
carload  of  baggage  got  side-tracked  near 
Garrison.  This  would  have  depressed  a 
class  with  just  an  ordinarily  hopeful  dis- 
position. But  Ninety-blank  was  exuberant, 
joyous,  ecstatic,  in  its  nature.  It  knew  not 
melancholy,  neither  fear.  Such  of  it  as 
had  been  assigned  a  local  habitation  paddled 
merrily  back  and  forth  between  Main  and 
Strong,  bearing  both  its  lawfully  acquired 
possessions  and  those  seized  in  raids  on  the 
careless  neighbor.  Such  of  it  as  awaited 
rooms  made  itself  glad  in  the  house  of  its 
friends.  Such  of  it  as  had  sisters  or  school 
friends  in  upper  classes  annexed  college  to 
itself. 


VASSAR  STORIES 


A  few  members  of  the  class,  with  neither 
rooms,  friends,  nor  the  Ninety-blank  cheer- 
fulness, felt  queer.  Molly  Omstead  was 
one  of  them.  She  sat  on  a  window-sill  on 
the  first  corridor,  watching  the  rainy  night 
close  down  over  the  campus  and  counting 
the  miles  to  Oakland,  California,  where  the 
rest  of  the  Omstead  family  probably  were 
doing  something  pleasant  just  now.  There 
were  a  great  many  miles.  Molly  was  just 
realizing  the  number.  Her  trunk  had  been 
brought  over  from  Mrs.  Norris'  that  morn- 
ing, and  was  now  adding  its  share  to  the 
general  confusion  of  the  corridor.  She 
would  have  liked  to  get  her  coat  out  of 
it,  for  large  draughts  floated  about,  but  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  unpack  directly 
in  the  public  thoroughfare.  She  longed  for 
a  room  and  a  room-mate,  especially  the  room- 
mate. 

For  Molly  was  shy,  in  a  brusque,  boyish 
sort  of  way.  She  wanted  to  be  friends  with 
everybody,  but  she  didn't  just  know  how. 
A  room-mate  would  be  a  friend  at  once. 
You  cannot  very  well  escape  knowing  a  girl, 


ROOM-MATES  5 

when  you  live  in  her  pocket  or  she  in  yours. 
Molly's  sister  had  kept  her  first  room-mate 
the  whole  four  years.  They  were  still  dear 
friends'.  Through  your  room-mate,  too,  you 
grew  to  know  other  girls. 

Molly  watched  the  groups  of  girls  hurry- 
ing about  the  corridor,  trying  to  guess  who 
was  to  belong  to  her.  She  had  decided  that 
she  would  like  the  brown  bun  of  a  girl 
whom  several  others,  upper  classmen  evi- 
dently, called  Betty,  when  a  slender,  fair 
one,  who  looked  like  an  old  miniature  at 
home,  stopped  to  speak  to  a  man  moving  a 
trunk.  Molly  thought  her  the  most  inter- 
esting person  she  had  ever  met,  though  she 
said  nothing  but  <c  May  I  have  my  trunk 
now,  please  ? "  and  directions  where  to  take 
it.  When  she  told  the  man  she  had  for- 
gotten which  floor  she  lived  on,  but  the 
number  was  sixty-nine,  Molly's  heart 
bobbed  about.  She  was  a  Freshman  !  and 
perhaps  — 

Molly  hurried  off  to  the  office  to  see  if  by 
any  chance  she,  too,  lived  in  sixty-nine.  No 
room  yet.  She  must  wait.  She  wandered 


6  VASSAR  STORIES 

into  Henriette  Knight's  room,  the  corridor 
was  getting  so  dark  and  homesick.  Hen- 
riette was  a  summer  acquaintance  who  sud- 
denly seemed  to  Molly,  in  her  loneliness,  a 
valued  friend.  Her  mother  was  helping  her 
settle  her  single,  a  slit  in  the  second  north 
wall.  Henriette,  her  mother,  and  the  furni- 
ture were  all  sizable  affairs  that  sufficiently 
crowded  the  tiny  room  without  the  addition 
of  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  girl.  They  were 
good  to  Molly,  however,  and  tried  not  to 
make  her  feel  in  the  way.  "  Don't  move, 
please,  we  can  pass  you."  "  Just  bend  for- 
ward one  instant,  this  book-case  must  go 
there."  "  If  you  could  sit  a  little  further 
over,  we  could  put  the  desk  in  that  corner." 
Molly  stayed  till  it  became  a  question  of 
her  going  out  or  the  bureau  not  coming  in. 

She  hunted  up  a  Senior  who  had  known 
her  sister  when  the  latter  was  a  Senior  and 
the  former  a  Freshman.  She  was  not  in. 
Her  room  was  held  by  strange  girls,  who 
sat  on  trunks,  the  floor,  and  one  another, 
and  who  were  so  loftily  indifferent  to  one 
Freshman  more  or  less  that  Molly  hurried 


ROOM-MATES  7 

away  lest  the  thought  of  her  own  minute- 
ness in  the  scheme  of  Vassar  overcome  her 
utterly. 

The  reading-room  looked  literary,  but  not 
exactly  homelike,  the  library  was  unfriendly, 
and  the  college  parlors  distinctly  hostile. 
Molly  sought  the  office  for  the  sixth  time 
that  afternoon,  this  time  not  in  vain.  Some 
one  handed  her  a  key,  saying,  "  You  are  to 
room  in  number  sixteen,  Main,  and  your 
room-mate  is  a  Freshman." 

Those  who  have  never  roomed  in  sixteen, 
north  Main  —  well,  let  them  give  thanks. 
It  is  a  double.  Molly  had  heard  of  a 
"shoot."  Her  first  glance  into  the  long, 
narrow,  dark  room  convinced  her  that  no 
such  brisk  title  applied.  A  crawl  was  the 
pace  at  which  that  room  would  have  travelled. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  paucity  of  chairs,  in- 
deed of  furniture  of  any  kind,  and  the  walls 
had  a  spotty  appearance.  But  the  room- 
mate had  come.  Nothing  else  mattered. 

She  sat  close  to  the  window  in  a  huddled 
position,  suggestive  of  chills  and  tears. 
Molly  lighted  the  gas.  Then  she  wished 


8  VASSAR  STORIES 

she  had  left  the  room  dark.  It  was  such  a 
blow  !  The  room-mate  was  moist,  and  dank, 
and  crumpled,  and  crumbly  in  all  sorts  of 
unexplainable  ways.  Molly's  perceptions 
were  not  keen,  yet  even  she  knew  at  once 
that  the  room-mate  was  an  impossible  per- 
son. A  big,  rosy,  vigorous  girl  herself,  she 
shuddered  at  the  unwholesome  little  creature 
before  her.  She  was  so  "  'umble "  when 
Molly  began  to  talk  to  her  that  the  latter 
named  her  "  Uriah  Heep  "  at  once.  "  Miss 
Stowe  "  was  her  right  name,  "  Carrie  Stowe, 
if  you  like." 

"Just  as  if,"  wrote  Molly  to  her  sister 
that  night,  "  I  didn't  like,  she'd  get  a  new 
one." 

Molly  described  Miss  Stowe  further  as 
"  a  loathsome  beast,  and  cries  without  any 
pocket  handkerchief."  She  said  much  more 
about  her  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  for 
Molly,  after  the  manner  of  Freshmen,  the 
first  half  of  the  year  wrote  a  letter  home 
every  day,  a  fat  one  that  took  two  postage 
stamps.  Later,  the  letters  were  less  fre- 
quent, and  were  something  like  this :  — 


ROOM-MATES  9 

Dear  Peops, —  O.K.  Hope  you  are.  Grand 
weather.  Awfully  busy.  Wish  I  could  see  you. 
Stacks  and  hoards  of  love.  MOLLY. 

P.S. —  Do  you  think  grandma  would  think  me  a 
nervy  cit  if  I  send  her  my  stockings  to  be  darned  ? 

P.S.  No.  2. —  Please  send  jny  winter  flannels.  I'm 
perishing.  And,  say,  can't  you  wrap  up  some  buns  and 
jam  in  them  ? 

These  letters  were  usually  on  the  back  of 
a  hygiene  written  lesson,  whose  front  bore 
strange  devices  of  lungs,  lights,  and  livers, 
or  of  an  algebra  paper  that  looked  as  if 
some  one  had  sprinkled  it  with  red  ink. 

The  Omsteads  in  Oakland,  California, 
grieved  over  these  and  said,  "  She  is  being 
weaned  from  home.  She  doesn't  show  any 
interest  in  the  fire  in  the  north  wing,  and 
she  hasn't  even  mentioned  old  Mrs.  Dent's 
death."  This  was  not  true.  Molly  loved 
home  just  as  much  as  ever,  and  in  the  coming 
vacation  she  would  listen  enthralled  to  the 
feats  of  daring  performed  by  her  family  in 
the  fire  or  to  the  minutest  happenings  among 
the  clan. 

She  had  entered  a  world  of  such  absorb- 


io  VASSAR  STORIES 

ing  interest  that  nothing  outside  of  it  could 
touch  her.  College  may  be  a  small  world 
and  a  narrow  one,  but  while  a  girl  lives 
in  it  she  neither  knows  nor  desires  any 
other.  The  fall  of  the  Chinese  Empire 
moves  not  a  whit  her  who  is  striving  with 
all  her  might  to  bring  about  the  fall  of  a  too 
ambitious  office-seeker  in  her  own  class ;  and 
Cecil  Rhodes's  speech  on  imperialism  leaves 
cold  a  heart  hot  with  rage  over  Prexy's  last 
chapel  talk  on  the  powers  of  the  Faculty. 
Should  it  not  be  so  ?  A  girl  has  all  her  life 
to  live  in  the  world  without,  but  only  four 
short  years  in  college.  And,  too,  it  is  all 
her  own.  The  "  Olympians,"  to  whose  num- 
ber she  herself  will  be  added  appallingly 
soon,  are  responsible  for  the  outside  world, 
but  she  alone  can  make  or  mar  college. 

By  chapel  time  Molly  had  found  out  that 
Uriah  Heep  used  hair  oil,  said  "considerable 
few,"  read  any  letters  left  unlocked,  besides 
having  other  even  more  unpleasant  cus- 
toms. Nevertheless,  she  was  nice  to  the 
room-mate  and  the  room-mate  liked  her  at 
once.  Every  one  did. 


ROOM-MATES  n 

"Is  there  something  queer  about  me  ?  " 
she  once  asked  a  friend.  "  All  the  Objec- 
tionables  attach  themselves  to  me.  It 
alarms  me." 

"Just  snub  them  good  once  or  twice," 
said  the  friend. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Molly. 

The  Objectionables  continued  to  cling. 

Uriah  Heep  fastened  herself  to  Molly  in 
a  limp,  clammy  sort  of  way,  and  would  not 
be  detached.  They  went  together  to  chapel. 
Who  ever  forgets  the  first  chapel  ?  The 
narrow  room  seems  immense  and  filled  with 
thousands  of  girls.  They  are  all  pretty, 
radiant,  happy  girls,  too,  who  never  knew 
a  first  day,  nor  were  ever  friendless  Fresh- 
men. The  tired,  the  unhappy,  the  disagree- 
able ones  make  no  impression  the  first 
night.  This  is  right,  for  they  are  the  minor- 
ity. And  when  they  all  stand  up  to  sing ! 
Six  hundred  girls*  voices  singing  "  Jerusa- 
lem the  Golden "  or  "  Abide  with  Me." 
Who  does  not  remember  that  odd,  new  feel- 
ing of  being  part  of  a  great  army  of  youth 
and  courage  which  must  vanquish  the  old, 


12  VASSAR  STORIES 

evil  things  of  the  world  ?  It  is  a  dim  per- 
ception, gone  in  a  breath,  and  yet  does  not 
its  effect  stay  forever  ?  As  the  hymn  ended 
in  a  low  Amen,  Molly  sank  on  her  knees 
for  the  prayer. 

"Are  you  a  Catholic?"  shrilled  Uriah 
Heep  in  her  ear. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  they  went  to 
church  together;  they  dined  together;  they 
walked  together  ;  they  talked  together ;  they 
walked  together  again.  Then  Molly  escaped 
to  Henriette  for  rest  and  fresh  air.  When 
she  returned,  Uriah  Heep  reproached  her, 
weeping. 

"  I  thought  you'd  deserted  me." 

Molly  took  her,  by  way  of  making  atone- 
ment, to  supper  with  the  Seniors,  though 
only  she  herself  had  been  invited  and  she 
blushed  with  shame  to  seem  so  fresh.  The 
rest  of  the  evening  she  read  the  Bible  to 
Uriah,  because  the  latter  disapproved  of 
"  novels  "  on  Sunday.  This  put  Uriah  to 
sleep,  which  would  have  been  a  blessing  if  it 
had  not  done  the  same  for  Molly. 

The    morning    allotment    of  classes    put 


ROOM-MATES  13 

Uriah  in  Molly's  sections.  That  delighted 
young  person  planned  her  day  so  that  every 
minute  of  it  should  be  passed  in  Molly's 
society. 

Once  only  did  Molly  escape.  She  went 
with  Henriette  to  put  the  latter's  mother 
on  the  cars.  While  they  waited  at  the 
Lodge,  they  watched  the  joy  with  which 
the  motor-man  banged  his  bell  at  intervals, 
so  that  dignified  professors  and  slow-pacing 
students  might  jump,  and  run,  and  fall  all 
over  themselves  to  catch  a  car  not  going  for 
ten  minutes  yet.  Henriette's  brother,  who 
had  appeared  to  assist  at  the  unpacking  after 
everything  was  unpacked,  was  making  Molly 
promise  him  a  number  of  dances  at  Phil,  and 
Molly  was  thinking,  "  he's  the  last  man-body 
I  shall  see  in  weeks,"  but  without  sorrow,  for 
Vassar's  all-sufficiency  was  working  within 
her,  when  some  one  squeezed  in  between 
them  and  a  breathless  voice  gasped, 

"  I've  looked  everywhere  for  you." 

It  was  Uriah  Heep. 

For  five  weeks  Molly  lived  as  did  the 
Siamese  twins.  Then  the  Limpet — Molly 
had  rechristened  her  —  announced, 


i4  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  I'm  going  to  room  with  Abby  Whitely." 

The  young  woman  named  was  an  obscure 
member  of  the  class,  who  had  acquired  fame 
by  translating  "  deos  pietatepropitiant  "  "  they 
appease  the  gods  with  a  pie." 

"  Does  she  know  you  ? "  asked  Molly, 
feeling  that  otherwise  Miss  Abby  must  be 
warned, 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  meet  in  Gyms." 

Molly  had  steadily  cut  Gyms,  as  it  was 
her  only  chance  for  freedom.  She  did  not 
inquire  by  what  method  the  pie  girl  had 
disposed  of  her  former  room-mate,  but 
awaited  with  a  thankful  heart  the  coming  of 
the  new  inmate  of  number  sixteen,  Miss 
Hildegarde  Huntington,  a  Special  from  one 
of  the  cottages. 

"Her  name's  agin'  her,"  she  thought, 
"but  any  one's  better  than  that  grewsome 
Limpet." 

Miss  Hildegarde's  arrival  was  preceded  by 
that  of  a  trunk  of  drummer-like  size.  Molly 
and  her  neighbors  speculated  on  its  contents. 

"  Paris  gowns,"  suggested  one.  "  Her 
name  sounds  as  if  she  were  a  terrible  dressy 
bit." 


ROOM-MATES  15 

But  she  was  not.  At  least,  not  on  first 
appearance.  She  was  a  comfortable  contrast 
to  the  bedraggled  Limpet,  however,  being 
lively,  independent,  and  as  crisp  as  a  fresh 
apple. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  in  answer  to  Molly's 
offer  of  assistance  in  unpacking.  "I  have 
very  few  clothes,  they  hamper  the  mind/' 

She  whisked  a  few  garments  out  of  the 
trunk,  and  shut  down  the  lid. 

"  Lawk  !  what's  in  there  ? "  thought  Molly, 
"  it's  uncanny  like." 

"  My  collection  of  biology  specimens," 
said  Hildegarde  just  as  if  Molly  had  spoken  ; 
it  had  a  sort  of  Alice  in  Wonderland  effect, 
"  I  collected  them  at  Woods  Holl  last  sum- 
mer." She  began  to  exhume  various  large 
jars  carefully  swathed  in  cotton.  "  My  set 
of  frogs,"  as  if  they  were  shirt-studs,  "  six 
young  toads  ;  my  rattlesnake, —  what's  the 
matter?" 

"  Take  them  away  !  Take  them  away  ! 
The  nasty  things  !  " 

"  They're  dead,  child,  I  killed  them  my- 
self last  summer." 


16  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  What  do  I  care  if  they  are  !  It's  the 
sight—  Oh,  don't!" 

Hildegarde  was  prodding  the  most  loathy 
frog  with  her  fingers. 

"  If  you  knew  how  silly  a  great,  grown-up 
girl  like  you  looks  hopping  about  and  shriek- 
ing, you'd  never  do  it  again,"  said  the  scien- 
tist with  perfect  calm,  "  but  of  course  if  you 
don't  like  them  I'll  shut  them  up.  I  hope 
you'll  take  Junior  biology,  you  need  it  to 
give  you  balance." 

Molly's  golf  boots  were  clumping  down 
the  corridor,  so  she  did  not  hear.  She  had 
gone  to  tell  her  friends  that  she  had  a 
delirium  tremens  outfit  in  her  room,  and 
that  there  were  worse  things  even  than  hav- 
ing one's  letters  read. 

In  the  evening  when  Molly  returned  to 
make  peace  with  the  enraged  biologist  she 
found  Hildegarde  had  forgotten  the  whole 
affair  in  a  properly  controlled  joy  over 
somebody's  new  psychology. 

Molly  was  sorely  puzzled  over  this  room- 
mate. She  was  perfectly  good-tempered  al- 
ways, and  helpful  in  all  difficulties,  yet  she 


ROOM-MATES  17 

would  not  let  the  simplest  remark  pass 
unchallenged,  and  she  would  argue  far  into 
the  night  on  whether  one  should  get  out 
of  bed  backwards  or  sideways.  Molly  was 
happily  too  ignorant  of  the  guild  to  know 
that  Hildegarde  was  a  person  with  a  mission 
—  to  reform  the  world.  There  are  many 
such  among  the  young  of  both  sexes.  They 
either  go  into  Settlements,  where  the  sur- 
rounding populace  is  so  used  to  being  ex- 
perimented upon  that  it  takes  no  harm,  write 
a  book  which  no  one  is  obliged  to  read,  or 
"  accept  their  possibilities,"  or  "  their  limita- 
tions," or  whatever  the  expression  is,  and 
become  honored  and  useful  members  of 
society.  Those,  however,  who  live  with 
them  while  they  are  making  up  their  minds 
what  they  will  be,  suffer  many  and  strange 
things. 

Molly,  who  was  sweet-spirited  and  joyous, 
bore  with  cheerfulness  Hildegarde's  "im- 
personal criticism,"  though  she  wondered 
how  it  could  be  much  more  personal,  but 
the  arguments  wore  on  her.  Hildegarde 
would  argue  Monday  morning,  c<  when  just 


T8  VASSAR  STORIES 

to  be  alive  is  misery,  and  to  have  mathe- 
matics is  very  death,"  on  predestination  ver- 
sus freewill.  She  would  argue  afternoons 
when  Molly  came  in  glowing  from  basket 
ball,  mindless  to  aught  save  a  bath  and  a 
nap,  on  Unitarianism  versus  Congregation- 
alism. She  would  argue  evenings,  when  the 
room  was  filled  with  burblers  eager  for  fun 
and  fudges,  on  imperialism  versus  the  rights 
of  the  native  to  the  soil.  Worst  of  all,  she 
would  argue  on  Sundays,  when  the  chances 
of  escaping  one's  room-mate  are  at  their 
lowest,  on  duty,  and  right,  and  religion. 

Molly  was  a  healthy,  normal  girl  of  eigh- 
teen, consequently  she  had  few  ideas  on  any 
subject.  She  first  stared  at  Hildegarde, 
then  laughed,  then  grew  sullen  under  the 
ceaseless  worry  of  having  to  say  something 
on  every  subject  and  then  defend  that  some- 
thing to  the  death.  She  called  Hildegarde 
various  evil  names,  to  her  face,  for  "  the  power 
of  the  tongue  "  descended  upon  her  in  her 
infrequent  rages,  all  of  which  Hildegarde 
received  with  unchanging  calm,  merely  re- 
marking, "Now,  don't  get  heated,"  or 


ROOM-MATES  19 

"Vituperation  is  not  argument."  Molly 
lived  in  her  friends'  rooms  and  longed  for 
vacation. 

The  trip  to  Mohonk  brought  about  the 
eviction  of  this  room-mate. 

Somewhere  in  the  gray  of  a  cold  October 
morning  a  gong  sounded  clamorously. 
Girls  began  calling  to  one  another, 
"Where's  my  cape  ?"  "Will  I  need  rub- 
bers ?  "  and  big  "  busses  "  —  barges  they 
call  them  in  Poughkeepsie  —  began  to  rum- 
ble under  the  porte-cochere.  Molly  mur- 
mured to  herself  "  Mohonk,"  and  turned 
over  to  sleep.  By  nine  o'clock  she  would 
be  grief-smitten  to  have  stayed  at  home. 
Just  now,  however,  all  motive  power  was 
dead.  Some  one  dragged  her  up,  brushed 
her  hair  with  vigor,  buttoned  her  boots  as 
if  they  belonged  to  an  enemy,  and  bundled 
her,  still  half  asleep,  into  one  of  the  busses. 

"  Hildegarde  is  an  old  peach,  after  all," 
thought  Molly  as  the  cold  air  waked  her  up. 
"  I'd  never  be  here  if  she  hadn't  hustled 
things  up  so.  I'll  argue  all  day  to-morrow 
on  duty  to  the  world  or  development  of  the 


20  VASSAR  STORIES 

individual  soul  the  highest  motive."  This 
was  Hildegarde's  choicest  theme. 

The  sky  was  an  Indian  red  with  the  after- 
glow of  sunset  as  the  barges  rolled  up  the 
driveway.  Molly  stumbled  out  of  hers  stiff 
from  the  forty-mile  drive,  dead  tired  from 
the  day  on  the  mountains,  dirty,  sunburned, 
and  gorgeously  happy.  It  was  not  the  good 
outdoor  day  that  leaped  and  shouted  in  her 
blood.  It  was  the  just  born  feeling  that  she 
was  a  member  of  Vassar  College  and  of  the 
class  of  Ninety-blank.  Some  girls  seem  to 
have  college  spirit  from  the  moment  they 
pass  under  the  Lodge,  others  have  to  have 
it  fired  within  them  by  some  especial 
occasion. 

Molly  had  sung  for  the  first  time, — 

"Here's  a  long  life  to  Vassar, 

Wave  we  her  flag  unfurled  ! 
Nothing  shall  e'er  surpass  her, 
Queen  of  the  college  world." 

And 

"There's  only  one  college  in  the  world  for  me, 
One  Alma  Mater,  and  that  is  V.  C." 

Then,  led  by  the  Seniors,  the  old,  old 


ROOM-MATES  21 

'*An    institution    once    there    was    of  learning    and    of 

knowledge, 

Which  had  upon  its  high  brick   front  Vassar  Female 
College." 

And 

"If  I  were  President, 
I'd  be  non  resident, 
And  all  my  energies  should  be  spent 
In  planning  for  merriment/' 

She  had  sung  class  songs,  too,  extempo- 
rized by  the  class  poet,  songs  of  doubtful 
metre  but  undoubted  loyalty.  She  had 
cheered  for  the  class  and  for  every  member 
in  it  till  she  could  cheer  no  more  because 
her  voice  was  only  a  croak.  She  had  shared 
her  cape  on  the  cold  drive  home  with  the 
tall  Canadian,  sat  with  her  arm  around  the 
shoulders  of  the  pretty  Chicago  girl,  and 
talked  class  politics  with  the  clever  girl  from 
New  Orleans.  She  wanted  to  grab  some 
one  and  jump  up  and  down  and  shout. 

cc  Oh,  don't  you  love  old  College,  and 
Ninety-blank,  and  —  everything!  " 

She  contented  herself  with  calling  "  Good- 
bye, Belle,"  "Goodbye,  Janet,"  to  girls 


22  VASSAR  STORIES 

whom  that  morning  she  had  spoken  to  as 
Miss  This  and  Miss  That.  She  slammed 
down  the  corridor,  flung  open  her  door, 
and  cast  herself  on  the  couch,  crying  exult- 
antly, if  hoarsely, 

"  Bully  for  Mohonk  !  " 

"  I  wonder/'  said  Hildegarde  Huntington, 
tc  if  both  could  be  measured,  which  would 
be  found  to  be  the  greater,  the  pain  or  the 
pleasure  of  life.  I  think  the  pain,  don't 
you  ? " 

Molly  sprang  up. 

"I  don't  anything!  I  know  I've  got  to 
move  out,  or  else  you  have.  I  can't  stand 
any  more  philosophy,  and  philology,  and 
psychology,  and  all  those  other  borey  things 
you  dote  on." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Hildegarde,  the 
placid.  "  You  need  a  girl  of  your  own  im- 
mature kind,  and  I  certainly  need  one  who 
can  talk  with  me." 

Thereupon  she  sought  another  room,  and 
with  Hildegarde  to  seek  anything  meant  to 
find  it  always. 

Molly's  perceptions    in    regard   to   room- 


ROOM-MATES  23 

mates  seemed  blunted  after  this.  Another 
cottager  succeeded  Hildegarde.  The  new 
girl  was  lovely  in  Molly's  eyes  because  she 
could  not  argue  if  she  tried.  When  she  left 
because  of  illness,  Molly  grieved  sincerely. 
The  fourth  room-mate  was  as  entertaining  as 
a  play,  but  she  considered  College  a  land 
where  it  is  always  afternoon,  and,  the  Faculty 
having  other  views  on  the  subject,  she  de- 
parted before  the  Finals.  The  fifth  had  a 
parrot  and  "  a  tendency  to  throw  things 
when  violent,  and  that  frequent."  Molly's 
friends,  foreseeing  murder  or  nervous  pros- 
tration for  her,  secured  a  single  for  the 
room-mate.  The  sixth  was  "  an  earnest 
student,"  who  couldn't  stand  company  or 
noise. 

It  was  during  the  reign  of  this  last  that  the 
spring  drawing  for  rooms  took  place.  If 
there  is  any  suspense  like  that  which  pre- 
cedes the  drawing  for  rooms,  may  the 
writer  be  spared  it !  At  least  one  hundred 
out  of  every  class  must  have  singles.  Their 
lives  will  be  blighted  else.  As  there  are 
only  twenty-seven  singles  allotted  each  class, 


24  VASSAR  STORIES 

much  sorrow  is  inevitable.  After  all  the 
parlors  and  doubles  have  been  drawn,  half 
of  them  by  people  who  don't  want  them,  a 
few  girls  still  remain  roomless,  clasping 
blanks  with  tragic  faces.  This  does  not 
mean  that  these  luckless  ones  will  have  no 
rooms  at  all,  but  they  cannot  be  convinced 
that  night  that  college  has  any  use  or  place 
for  them.  It  is  not  especially  cheerful,  at 
the  best,  to  be  assigned  a  room  and  a  room- 
mate, or  to  be  poked  into  a  parlor  to  fill  it 
up.  The  scenes  in  the  corridor  after  the 
drawing  are  dismal. 

A  hubbub  of  voices  sounded  in  the  lecture- 
room  the  night  of  the  drawing.  A  shout 
greeted  Molly  as  she  entered,  above  which 
Sally  Dean's  voice  could  be  heard. 

"  O  Mary  Ann,  we've  whacked  up  a 
deal,  Lou,  Sarah,  Barbara  Sterling,  and  I,  so 
you'll  get  your  single.  We're  going  into  a 
firewall.  Three  of  us  will  draw  for  it,  that's 
enough,  and  one  can  draw  for  you." 

"  But  no  one  can  draw  for  me,  Sal." 

"  Not  right  for  you,  but  if  she  gets  it 
then  we'll  take  you  in  the  firewall,  and  you 
can  exchange  back  into  the  single,  see?  " 


ROOM-MATES  25 

"  E-r  —  yes,  I  reckon  so."  But  Molly 
didn't  see  at  all. 

"If  you  neither  of  you  get  singles,  you 
can  draw  for  doubles,  and  exchange  into  —  " 

"  Don't  listen  to  her,  Molly,"  interrupted 
another  girl,  "  she's  growing  feeble-minded 
over  room  permutations  and  combinations. 
Do  you  think  we'll  all  make  for  Strong  the 
way  the  Sophomores  did  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not !  "  cried  a  third.  "  I  love 
old  Main." 

<c  Have  you  heard  about  the  Sophomores  ? 
That  Von  Beck  crowd,  those  fierce  girls  that 
live  around  me,  have  drawn  all  the  good 
rooms.  They've  gone  to  Strong  in  a  wad. 
Kate  Palubits,  May  Herrick,  and  the  rest  of 
them,  are  furious  because  they're  fobbed  off 
with  those  tucked-up  places  in  Fifth  Centre 
and  the  Towers." 

"  Last  year,"  it  was  a  pompous  little  girl 
who  spoke,  "  my  sister  had  just  two  choices, 
an  excellent  room  in  Strong,  and  a  wretched 
little  one  on  First.  She  selected  the  little 
one  because  she  thought  all  her  friends  were 
to  be  there,  too.  Then  all  the  rooms  were 


26  VASSAR  STORIES 

changed  about  so  she  found  herself  entirely 
alone,  no  one  she  knew  nearer  than  Fourth." 

"  Think  how  forlorn  !  " 

"  I  guess  I  know,"  spoke  up  a  girl  who 
was  balancing  on  the  back  of  a  seat.  "  I  call 
my  house  Lonesomehurst,  nobody  for  miles 
but  Seniors.  They're  so  wrapped  up  in 
their  own  might,  majesty,  and  dominion, 
they  don't  know  I  exist,  even." 

"  If  any  one  gets  a  single,  it's  just  got 
to  be  you,  Molly  Omstead,  you've  been 
chivied  about  by  room-mates  long  enough." 
Barbara  Sterling  put  her  arm  around  Molly 
and  hugged  her.  She  had  been  through  a 
queer  room-mate  experience  herself. 

"  Do  you  know,  girls,  people  think  I'm 
such  a  oner  nobody  can  live  with  me.  I 
heard  that  Miss  Mapes  in  our  class  say, 
c  Six  room-mates  in  one  year  is  really  sus- 
picious.' '  Molly's  voice  was  plaintive. 

"So  it  is.  So  it  is,  Miss  Molly.  We 
all  think  so."  Sally  Dean  hugged  Molly's 
neck  till  she  pulled  her  hair  down. 

"That  Miss  Mapes  — "  began  Barbara, 
but  Betty  Blake  cut  in  with, 


ROOM-MATES  27 

"  If  I  don't  get  a  room  and  am  put  in 
with  any  one,  it's  going  to  be  the  Mother  of 
the  Gracchi,  I  feel  it  in  my  bones.  Look 
at  her,  doesn't  she  have  the  most  virtuous 
Roman  matron  air  ?  and  that  ( coiffure,'  as 
she  calls  it,  don't  you  know  Cordelia  wore 
one  just  like  it?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  mean  Cornelia,  if  you  refer 
to  Mrs.  Gracchus'  first  name.  I  don't  mind 
her  hair  as  much  as  I  do  her  habit  of  stop- 
ping you  and  saying :  c  Isn't  it  wonderful ! 
strange  !  mysterious  ! '  c  What  ? '  c  Oh,  life, 
nature,  eternity/  I  think  she  lacks  several 
portions  of  gray  matter,  myself,"  said  Bar- 
bara. 

"  I'd  rather  have  her  than  that  Miss 
Sands.  What  do  you  think  she  told  me 
the  other  day?  ( I'm  immoral  and  I  am 
proud  of  it,'  "  said  Molly. 

"  Don't  start  such  a  scandalous  report," 
laughed  Barbara.  "  She  said  she  was  un- 
moral. There's  a  slight  difference  between 
them." 

"Well,  I  don't  — "  but  the  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Kendrick,  with  the  urn  of  fate,  other- 


28  VASSAR  STORIES 

wise  a  black  silk  bag,  stopped  further  con- 
versation. 

Molly  looked  around  the  room.  Every 
girl,  from  Georgia  Oberley,  who  was  such  a 
grind  she  hadn't  even  a  picture  on  her  wall 
for  fear  it  should  distract  her  mind,  to  Sally 
Dean,  who  lived  in  the  corridors,  wore  an 
anxious  look.  So  much  hung  on  the  event. 
Outsiders  may  say  that  on  a  girl's  physical 
and  mental  strength  depends  her  college 
success.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  is  on  her 
room  and  her  room-mate. 

Molly  went  first.  She  drew  a  blank  three 
times  !  No  room  of  her  own !  A  room- 
mate !  On  the  stairs  and  in  the  corridors 
girls  were  storming  at  their  bad  luck  or 
silently  making  an  effort  to  "  grin  and  bear 
it,"  according  to  their  natures.  Here  and 
there  a  group  close  drawn  around  a  figure 
marked  the  effort  to  hide  the  collapse  of 
some  once  hopeful  spirit.  Molly  tramped 
downstairs,  into  the  cool  spring  night.  Her 
disappointment  was  a  bitter  one.  She  wanted 
to  get  outdoors  with  it. 

The  Sophomore  room   was  a  Tower,  one 


ROOM-MATES  29 

with  pink  paper  and  a  red  carpet,  but  the 
room-mate  was  soothingly  neutral.  To  be 
sure,  she  irritated  Molly  by  her  lack  of  class 
spirit,  as  when  she  had  a  chance  to  learn  the 
secret  of  the  Trig  ceremonies,  but  declined 
because  she  was  "  too  busy  "  to  take  time  to 
hear  it  told,  and  when  she  refused  to  go  to  a 
class  meeting  where  every  vote  counted,  say- 
ing, "It  doesn't  matter  to  me  who's  elected." 
It  all  mattered  terribly  to  Molly  from  class 
president  to  new  history  note-books,  for 
wasn't  it  a  part  of  College  ?  and  wasn't  Col- 
lege the  world  ? 

However,  she  was  amiable,  liked  to  be  by 
herself,  took  quantities  of  baths,  and  had 
other  agreeable  traits,  some  one  of  which 
had  been  lacking  in  the  other  room-mates. 
Molly  really  missed  her  when  she  was  forced 
to  go  home  in  December. 

The  never-failing  cottage  supply  sent  up  a 
Freshman  to  fill  the  vacancy.  This  Fresh- 
man was  bright,  interesting,  and  nice.  In 
three  weeks  Molly  hated  the  very  sound  of 
her  little  boots.  She  would  have  worked  for 
a  change,  had  not  pride  restrained  her.  Other 


30  VASSAR  STORIES 

people  besides  the  disagreeable  Miss  Mapes 
might  think  her  a  "  oner/' 

"So  for  a  season  they  fought  it  fair, 

She  and  his  cousin  May, 
Talented,  tactful,  debonair, 
Decorous  foes  were  they  —  " 

in  public.  In  private  there  was  nothing 
either  decorous  or  debonair  about  their 
methods. 

Molly,  in  looking  back  on  the  year,  could 
never  account  for  its  unhappiness.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  Mediaeval  History  and  Trig 
got  on  her  nerves.  She  had  never  supposed 
she  possessed  those  last  till  after  she  had 
spent  hours,  precious  hours  which  belonged 
to  skating  and  golf,  in  quest  of  the  three 
sources  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  or  in 
locating  forty-eight  angles  in  various  quad- 
rants, "  left  to  the  ingenuity  of  the  student." 

She  longed,  hoped,  prayed  for  a  single. 
"  But  it's  just  my  luck  to  get  left  again." 
She  fell  to  watching  all  the  Objectionables  of 
the  class,  thinking,  "  Which  one'll  I  get  next 
year?" 


ROOM-MATES  31 

However,  Ganesh,  god  of  Luck,  is  some- 
times as  inconsistent  as  though  he  were  a 
goddess.  Molly  drew  third  choice  in  singles, 
and  a  great  repast  at  Smith's  was  the  celebra- 
tion thereof. 

The  single  was  not  much  to  look  at.  The 
washstand  had  to  be  removed  to  the  corri- 
dor every  night  if  she  wished  room  to  go  to 
bed  without  peril,  and  the  paper  and  the 
curtains  said  rude  things  to  one  another. 
Molly  thought  it  a  beautiful  room.  She 
revelled  in  it.  She  even  forsook  her  real 
home,  the  great  outdoors,  for  three  whole 
days  in  order  to  furnish  it  worthily.  She 
sat  up  till  two  and  slept  till  ten,  piled  all  her 
belongings  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  cooked 
agreeable  foods  at  strange  hours,  had  a  "  sub- 
scription ball,"  five  cents  a  head,  twice  a  week, 
in  order  that  she  might  make  really  true  to  her 
herself  her  independence.  Most  of  all  she 
enjoyed  just  the  aloneness  of  it  all.  Each 
of  her  room-mates  had  possessed  the  vice  — 
in  Molly's  eyes  —  of  being  always  in  the 
room.  She  sometimes  wondered  if  they  ever 
went  to  any  lectures.  She  could  never  re- 


32  VASSAR  STORIES 

member  entering  the  room  without  rinding  a 
room-mate  there.  Now  a  beautiful  silence 
and  solitude  could  be  all  her  own  whenever 
she  chose  to  hang  out  "  Asleep," — "  En- 
gaged "  was  no  protection  to  her.  Some- 
times she  hid  herself  behind  that  barricade, 
stretched  herself  on  her  couch,  and  let  the 
aloneness  soak  way  into  her. 

One  October  night,  a  month  after  college 
opened,  Molly  walked  over  to  Strong,  col- 
lecting girls  as  she  went.  The  Juniors  were 
on  the  steps  of  Strong,  singing.  Molly  did 
not  sing  much  herself:  she  always  liked 
to  be  where  there  was  any  noise  being  made, 
however. 

It  was  Friday  night.  The  lecturer  on 
"Some  Aspects  of"  something  had  kindly 
remained  at  home.  The  air  was  as  mild  as 
August.  Every  one  felt  idle  and  jolly. 

Junior  year  is  the  happiest  one  of  the 
whole  college  four.  The  long  pull  and  the 
strong  pull  of  the  first  two  years  is  over. 
The  dullest  student  knows  that,  unless  of 
wanton  choice,  she  need  never  grind  again. 
It  is  the  time  to  work  leisurely  and  pleas- 


ROOM-MATES  33 

urely  over  some  subject  that  especially  inter- 
ests you,  and  to  find  out  what  you  are  good 
at.  It  is  the  time,  too,  to  take  long  rambles 
about  the  country,  to  explore  the  hidden, 
pretty  parts  of  the  campus,  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  the  approachable  members 
of  the  Faculty,  to  get  up  close  to  your  class, 
and  to  make  life-long  friendships,  —  the 
time,  in  short,  to  do  all  the  things  which 
make  Vassar  Vassar  and  not,  as  it  is  called 
in  the  prayers  of  the  visiting  clergy,  "  an  in- 
stitution of  learning."  The  bustle  and  im- 
portance of  Sophomore  year  are  over,  the 
responsibility  and  Ethics  of  Senior  yet  to  be. 
The  Juniors  are  no  account  in  the  estimation 
of  the  college.  The  Juniors  are  more  than 
willing.  They  are  idle,  careless,  jolly,  and 
happy. 

The  Juniors,  sitting  on  Strong  steps,  un- 
derstood all  this,  even  if  they  had  never 
thought  it  out.  They  sang  rejoicefully,  their 
arms  around  one  another's  necks,  their  heads 
resting  on  each  other's  shoulders.  Some  one 
had  a  mandolin,  some  one  else  a  banjo.  A 
few  had  good  voices,  the  others  did  well  as 


34  VASSAR  STORIES 

padding.  Between  the  songs  everybody 
talked,  and  laughed,  and  joked.  Occasion- 
ally the  leader,  who  had  a  mind  always 
bent  on  thoroughness,  scolded  because  they 
laughed  in  the  midst  of  a  song  or  didn't 
sing  well.  When  other  songs  failed,  some 
one  would  strike  up  America's  new  national 
hymn,  "  There'll  be  a  hot  time  in  the  old 
town." 

A  girl  was  singing  behind  Molly.  Her 
voice  was  only  a  pipe,  but  it  had  a  pathos 
in  it  that  "  touched  you  where  you  live.'* 
Molly  turned  her  head  to  see  the  singer. 
It  was  Georgia  Oberley.  Georgia  was  the 
typical  grind,  pale,  worn,  and  nervous.  No 
one  knew  her.  In  her  Junior  year  her  class 
were  still  calling  her  Miss  Oberley.  Molly 
had  sat  beside  her  in  class  by  reason  of 
alphabetical  arrangement,  and  had  found  her 
nice  about  lending  paper,  pencils,  and  other 
necessities.  Molly  always  caught  a  class  on 
the  fly,  so  to  speak,  as  she  ran  in  from  skat- 
ing or  basket  ball,  and  so  never  was  fur- 
nished with  the  munitions  of  war.  Georgia 
had  a  pleasant  face.  She  dressed  artistically, 


ROOM-MATES  35 

too,  in  a  quiet  way.  Molly  herself  never 
felt  at  ease  except  in  a  high-collared  shirt 
waist  and  a  tie  bought  by  her  brother, — 
"  because  girls  don't  get  the  right  kind," — 
yet  she  liked  the  way  Georgia  harmonized 
with  her  clinging  wools  and  soft  muslins. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  she  asked 
at  the  end  of  the  song. 

"  Singing,"  answered  Georgia  with  a  smile 
for  the  bluntness  of  the  question.  Then,  as 
if  some  explanation  really  were  due,  "  I  have 
a  headache.  I  hoped  the  air  would  do  me 
good.  I've  got  to  cut  deep  over  Greek." 

"I  kept  up  my  Latin,"  said  Molly,  at 
which  some  one,  overhearing  her,  began  to 
murmur  a  verse  from  the  Vassarian  :  — 

"Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby, 

Now  the  Latin  hour  is  nigh. 
Know  your  lesson  ?     No,  not  I. 
Those  who  work  the  sooner  die, 
Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby." 

They  sang  again.  Then  some  one  re- 
membered she  was  due  at  a  spread,  some 
one  else  that  her  friend  had  a  guest,  and 


36  VASSAR  STORIES 

others  recalled  different  engagements.  So 
the  singing  broke  up. 

"  Come  to  walk  a  bit,"  said  Molly,  her 
hand  on  Georgia's  shoulder.  She  did  not 
know  why  she  asked  her.  Georgia's  startled 
nod  did  not  surprise  her.  She  pitied  the 
girl,  somehow,  she  looked  so  tired  and 
lonely. 

"  That's  my  nice  old  house,"  said  the  big 
Junior  as  they  passed  a  corner  of  Main. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  burn  up  a  professor," 
the  little  Junior  pointed  to  the  dark  window. 
The  other  laughed  at  the  old  saying  that  if 
the  girls  would  save  on  the  gas  bills  College 
might  have  another  member  on  the  Faculty. 

"  I  don't  care  about  any  professor,"  said 
Molly.  "  I  don't  like  to  use  up  the  good 
air  in  the  room.  I  always  open  the  window, 
too." 

"You  can.     You  live  alone." 

"  Helloa,"  said  Molly,  stopping  in  the 
path,  "  are  you  stuck  with  a  room-mate  ? 
You  know  I  had  the  seven  plagues  of  Egypt 
in  my  room."  She  laughed,  for  her  troubles 
never  embittered  her. 


ROOM-MATES  37 

Georgia  looked  up  at  the  round,  brown 
face  so  far  above  hers.  She  remembered 
hearing  the  girls  quote  Kipling's  remark 
about  Californians  to  Molly,  "  hearts  as  big 
as  their  boots."  She  had  a  kind  voice,  this 
girl  like  a  boy,  and  her  wide-apart  gray  eyes 
were  candid,  like  a  child's.  Georgia  felt  a 
great  longing  to  confide  in  some  one. 

"  It's  awful,  Miss  Omstead,"  she  burst 
out,  "  1  can't  stand  my  life  here.  I'm  not 
like  most  of  the  girls,  I  don't  care  for 
parties,  or  athletics,  or  the  class,  or  any  of 
the  things  they  get  so  excited  about.  I  just 
want  to  study.  That's  what  I  came  for  and 
I  love  it.  I  have  to,  of  course.  I'm  going 
to  teach,  and  I  need  all  the  honors  and 
prizes  I  can  get.  You  know  outsiders  set 
so  much  more  value  on  those  things  than  we 
do,"  deprecatorily. 

"  I'd  think  a  heap  of  them,  too,  if  I  could 
ever  get  one,"  said  honest  Molly. 

"  I  think  I'm  a  real  student.  I  can  study 
and  study  weeks  on  just  one  little  fine  point." 

"  Like  the  Latin  professor  who  specialized 
on  the  first  declension  and  when  he  died 


3 8  VASSAR  STORIES 

groaned,  (  Oh,  if  I'd  only  devoted  my  life 
to  the  dative  case.' ' 

"  Yes,  like  that.  I  have  to  have  a  quiet 
place  to  work,  though.  I'm  not  strong  and 
I  get  nervous  easily.  I  suppose  I  overwork. 
My  Freshmen  and  Sophomore  years  I  had 
a  single,  but  this  year  I  drew  a  blank.  I'm 
in  a  parlor  with  two  Freshmen.  They  are 
the  most  selfish,  unkind  girls  I  ever  knew." 
Georgia's  voice  trembled.  "  They  have  the 
room  full  of  people  all  the  time,  they  sing 
and  talk  and  play  the  banjo  till  I'm  wild. 
I've  tried  to  get  another  room,  but  so  many 
names  are  ahead  of  mine,  I  won't  have  an 
opportunity  till  spring.  I'll  have  to  leave 
by  then,  for  I  can't  stand  it  much  longer. 
I've  worked  so  hard  to  get  here,  too,  and 
I'll  never  have  another  chance  !  All  I  ask 
of  college  is  a  quiet  place  to  work  —  "  she 
stopped  abruptly. 

Molly  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  Music 
Hall,  to  which  they  had  walked. 

"  I'm  sorry  about  it,"  she  said  brusquely, 
"  hope  you'll  get  another  room,  some  way. 
Don't  you  think  you'd  better  go  in  ?  That's 


ROOM-MATES  39 

the  bell.  I'm  going  to  take  a  cut  out  here 
awhile.  Good-night." 

Georgia  walked  away,  her  head  erect. 

"  So  much  for  bothering  any  one  with 
your  troubles,"  she  thought  bitterly. 

Molly  looked  up  steadily  at  the  sky. 
She  wasn't  thinking  at  all.  She  was  just 
letting  the  night  and  the  far,  far  away  stars 
straighten  her  out.  It  was  like  what  Tess 
of  the  D'Urbervilles  called  "looking  at  the 
sky  till  you  see  your  soul  rise  in  the  air." 
She  loved  outdoors.  "  You  never  feel 
stuffy  and  fubsy  there." 

After  a  while  she  did  think  about  Georgia. 
What  a  neddy  she  was  to  miss  all  the  fun, 
and  the  girls,  and  the  class,  just  for  more 
Greek  and  Latin  !  It  was  mighty  nice  to 
have  prizes  and  honors  and  know  a  lot  if 
you  could  do  it  like  Sarah  Ralph  or  Mary 
H olden,  who  had  as  much  fun  and  as  many 
friends  as  anybody  in  college.  But  if  you 
had  to  grind  for  it  like  a  slave,  and  get  thin 
and  blue  and  never  get  a  chance  to  play  — 
Well,  anyhow,  it  was  what  made  Georgia 
happiest.  "  All  I  ask  of  college  is  a  quiet 


40  VASSAR  STORIES 

place  to  work,"  her  voice  shook  like  any- 
thing when  she  said  that,  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

Two  tears  ran  down  Molly's  own  cheeks, 
but  not  in  pity  for  Georgia.  Then  she  cried, 
bent  over  till  her  face  was  hidden  in  her  lap. 
Molly  did  not  cry  any  oftener  than  a  boy. 
It  meant  a  good  deal  when  she  did.  After 
that  she  watched  the  stars  till  the  darkening 
of  college  warned  her  to  go  in. 

Once  in  her  room  she  lighted  the  gas  and 
lay  down  on  her  couch. 

"  I'll  have  one  grand  alone  cut,"  she  said, 
"then  I'll  tell  Georgia  Oberley  in  the  morn- 
ing she  can  have  this  room  for  keeps.  I 
don't  believe  there's  a  room-mate  living,  or 
a  pair  of  them,  can  hurt  me.  I'm  fire- 
proof." 

By  and  by  she  turned  out  the  gas.  She 
did  not  go  to  sleep,  however.  Her  thoughts 
could  not  have  been  unhappy  ones,  though, 
for  she  smiled  to  herself  in  the  dark  content- 
edly. 


THE  MOULDERS  OF  PUBLIC 
OPINION 


The   Moulders   of  Public 
Opinion 

THE  celebrated  lecturer  had  sent  his 
assistant  to  take  his  place.  He  was 
a  well-meaning  young  person,  and  he  strove 
valiantly  to  adapt  his  lecture  to  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  the  needs  of  a  woman's  college. 
He  left  the  subject  of  journalism  in  general, 
in  which  he  was  really  entertaining,  to  tell 
long,  inspiring  stories  of  the  success  of  Miss 
Smith  on  Harper 's  Bazar  and  Mrs.  Jones 
on  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal.  His  hearers 
smiled  patiently. 

"  Man,  man,"  murmured  a  girl  in  the 
front  seat,  "we  are  human  beings  if  we 
are  women." 

"They  are  all  alike,"  returned  the  girl 
beside  her,  "  lecturers,  ministers,  professors. 
I  haven't  heard  a  human  being  sermon  since 
the  one  that  Englishman  preached,  where  he 
called  us  f  dear  brethren '  and  c  Christian 

43 


44  VASSAR  STORIES 

young  men.'  He  said  afterwards  it  was 
written  for  some  men's  guild  in  England, 
but  c  it  really  applies  anywhere,  me  dear.' 
Nice  old  party  !  " 

"  Hush  !     Listen  !  " 

The  lecturer  was  giving  practical  advice. 

"  Excellent  training  for  journalistic  life 
may  be  gained  by  undergraduates  of  any 
college  by  work  on  the  various  periodicals 
of  the  institution.  The  function  of  the  col- 
lege magazine  is  larger  than  the  discipline 
of  those  engaged  in  its  preparation,  how- 
ever. It  should  have  a  high  and  broad  in- 
fluence on  the  college  life.  The  editors  of 
such  a  magazine  owe  to  their  fellow-students 
the  greatest  deliberation  and  the  utmost 
care  in  its  preparation ;  for  they  are,  in 
the  old  phrase,  the  c  moulders  of  public 
opinion.' ' 

The  two  Miscellany  editors  present  grinned 
joyously  at  one  another  and  at  "  their  fellow- 
students." 

"  Come  on,  thou  moulder  of  public 
opinion,"  said  one  of  them  as  the  audi- 
ence left  Chapel  at  the  end  of  the  lecture. 


Sunset  Hill 


The  Road  to  Sunset  Hill 


PUBLIC  OPINION  45 

"  We've  got  to  put  the  Miscellany  to  bed, 
you  know." 

"  Hang  the  Miscellany  !  "  said  the  other, 
with  gloomy  rage.  "  I'm  tired  as  a  little 
dog.  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  Let's  send  it 
off  to-morrow  noon." 

"  No,  sir,  we've  never  been  an  hour  late 
to  the  printers  yet.  We're  not  going  to  break 
our  record  now.  Besides,  to-morrow  morn- 
ing isn't  long  enough  time.  We've  got  to 
take  an  all-nighter,"  answered  the  other,  the 
editor-in-chief. 

The  sub  drooped  visibly  as  she  gazed  on 
her  chief.  The  latter  did  not  bear  the 
appearance  desirable  in  the  companion  of 
one's  midnight  toils.  She  was  suffering 
from  what  she  called,  according  to  the 
cheerfulness  of  her  mood,  "a  bad  cold," 
"  pneumonia,"  or  "  my  death  seizure."  Her 
voice  was  of  an  awesome  depth,  her  eyes 
were  moist,  and  her  throat  was  swathed  in  a 
variety  of  liberty  scarfs,  unpleasantly  sug- 
gestive of  flannel  bandages  beneath. 

"  I'll  corral  Lucy,"  murmured  the  sub, 
diving  viciously  through  the  crowd  at  a  girl 


46  VASSAR  STORIES 

scuttling  towards  the  firewall  stairs.  The 
victim  offered  no  resistance,  knowing  the 
uselessness  of  it,  but  followed  the  others  to 
the  sanctum.  First  corridor  being  in  its 
usual  state  of  mine-like  twilight,  they  stum- 
bled over  somebody's  laundry  tied  up  in  a 
hard  bundle  and  left  outside  the  next  door, 
groped  for  the  knob,  and  opened  the  door 
to  be  greeted  by  a  blast  of  cold  air  and  the 
round  face  of  one  of  the  business  editors. 

"  Esther,  if  you  wish  my  demise  post- 
poned till  this  number  of  the  Miscellany  is 
ready  for  an  eager  people,  you  will  close  that 
window."  The  chief  shivered  herself  into  a 
chair. 

"We'll  stifle  if  I  do." 

"  There're  only  two  stages  of  life  in  this 
place,"  scolded  Lucy,  as  she  shut  the  win- 
dow, "  stifling  or  freezing.  I'd  like  to  know 
who  runs  the  thermometer  here,  anyhow." 

"Over  in  Strong,"  began  Esther,  "the 
water  in  my  pitcher — " 

"Please  be  still,  children,"  begged  the 
chief.  "  I've  got  to  read  and  review  this  fat 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes" 


PUBLIC  OPINION  47 

"  Anna  Adams,  do  you  mean  to  say  you 
haven't  looked  at  that  book  till  now?  It's 
a  regular  shame  for — " 

"Don't  say  anything  ha'sh,  Mary,  that 
you'll  be  sorry  for  when  I  have  passed  away. 
I  know  I  am  a  vile  worm  o'  the  dust,  but 
I've  been  to  Philadelphia  to  a  wedding  this 
month,  and  to  New  York  to  the  opera,  and 
written  up  a  three  weeks  overdue  special 
topic.  I'd  like  to  know  how  I  could  do 
anything  more.  I've  written  a  choice  edi- 
torial, too,  on  the  Armenian  massacres,  with 
a  new  and  satisfactory  solution  of  the  situa- 
tion thrown  in."  The  last  words  were 
rather  vague  as  the  speaker  sank  into  the 
Life  and  Letters  of  Dr.  Holmes. 

The  door  opened  to  admit  the  business 
manager,  who  began  rummaging  in  drawers, 
and  turning  over  account  books. 

"  There's  a  dragon  in  this  office  just 
battens  on  postage  stamps.  I  bought  a 
whole  grist  of  them  only  yesterday  and  not 
one's  left." 

The  editors  wrote  away  vigorously,  their 
faces  fairly  vacuous  with  innocence. 


48  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  I'm  sorry  I'm  not  a  literary  light,  ladies, 
so  I  could  help  you,"  she  said  as  she  gath- 
ered her  papers  in  a  neat  pile.  "  Try  to  have 
the  magazine  small  this  month,  won't  you  ? 
Every  page  costs  us  just  so  much  more,  you 
know." 

"  But,  Ellen,  we've  got  to  give  the  sub- 
scribers the  worth  of  their  money.  We 
mustn't  make  our  profits  dishonestly,"  ob- 
jected Mary. 

"  Maybe  not,"  said  Ellen,  as  if  really 
much  might  be  said  on  the  other  side. 
"  Give  them  quality  then.  One  but  a  lion 
effect.  Good-night." 

"Lucky  Ellen,"  sighed  Mary.  "Here, 
Esther,  finish  up  this  c  Point  of  View.' 
The  writer  left  it  dangling  in  mid-air.  Wind 
it  up  somehow." 

Esther,  half-way  to  the  door,  stopped  in 
dismay. 

"  I'm  just  awfully  sorry,  but  I  can't  stay 
another  minute.  I've  got  to  dress  a  Chris- 
tian doll  for  the  show  to-morrow  night,  and 
if  I  get  it  done  in  time  I  want  to  take  the 
seven  train  in  the  morning  for  New  York." 


PUBLIC  OPINION  49 

"  Esther  Ford,  do  you  mean  to  say  you've 
been  that  witless  you've  taken  one  of  those 
foolish  dolls  to  clothe  ? "  the  mild  Lucy 
quavered  with  scorn. 

"  Two  !  "  abjectly. 

"  I  wore  my  family  to  regular  frazzles 
sending  home  great  wads  of  them  every  year 
to  be  dressed  in  about  two  days.  This  fall 
they  declined  with  severity,  therefore  I  took 
no  dolls,"  said  Anna,  coming  to  the  surface 
from  out  the  waves  of  Dr.  Holmes's  early 
youth. 

"  It  doesn't  take  long,"  said  Esther. 

"It  doesn't!  I  infer  you  have  yet  to 
dress  one  if  such  be  your  belief,"  said 
Mary.  "  Just  experiment  with  a  pair  of 
two-inch  sleeves,  or  try  to  get  one  of  their 
yokes  to  c  set.'  If  I  have  any  time  left 
from  work  and  this  Miscellany  business, 
I  don't  want  to  waste  it  on  fiddling  dolls' 
clothes,  I  want  some  fun." 

"  But  I  promised,  Mary."  Esther  sidled 
through  the  door  in  order  to  make  her  exit 
as  inconspicuous  as  possible. 

A  toilsome  half-hour  passed.     Anna  read 


50  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Dr.  Holmes "  with  the  tense  expression 
of  one  cramming  for  a  final,  Mary  copied 
an  illegible  manuscript  in  what  she  fondly 
believed  to  be  a  fair  hand  o'  writ,  Lucy 
painfully  evolved  titles  for  "  Points  of 
View." 

"  Where's  Jessie  ?  "  suddenly  asked  Mary. 

"cAt  Random/"  murmured  Lucy. 

"  I  wish  c  At  Random '  were  abolished. 
It  hasn't  had  a  decent  thing  in  it  the  last  ten 
years." 

"  I  contribute  vers  de  soci'ct'e  to  it  every 
month  myself,"  said  Lucy. 

"  It  has  !  "  Anna  emerged  with  a  jerk. 
"  Compare  it  with  that  kind  of  a  department 
in  any  of  the  college  magazines,  and  you'll 
find  it  as  good  as  any  and  far  better  than 
most." 

"There!  there!"  soothed  Mary,  "we 
know  the  Miscellany  is  equalled  by  few  and 
excelled  by  none." 

"  Here's  Jessie  !  "  cried  Lucy.  All  ac- 
cepted the  diversion. 

The  new-comer  looked  worn  and  pale. 
She  laid  a  bundle  of  papers  on  the  table. 


PUBLIC  OPINION  51 

"  There's  not  enough,  and  it's  bad  be- 
sides," she  announced. 

"It  is,"  pronounced  the  three,  reading- 
over  one  another's  shoulders.  "  Is  this 
all  ?  " 

"  All !  "  tragically.  "  And  that  Freshman 
who  promised  to  write  a  farce  for  the  main 
department  is  in  the  infirmary." 

"  She  should  have  written  it  there,"  said 
a  strange  voice,  belonging  to  Rose,  the 
"  Persona]  "  editor. 

"  Rosie,  tell  me  your  department  is  all 
ready,"  implored  Anna. 

"It  is  not,"  placidly,  "  a  long  alum,  re- 
port has  just  appeared  in  the  evening  mail, 
and  Professor  Lane  hasn't  sent  in  her  news 
yet." 

"  Extort  it  from  her." 

"  I  can't.  She's  giving  the  lecturer  a 
party,  and  I  am  not  bidden  thereto." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  she'd  give  that  silly 
soul  a  party,"  mused  Lucy. 

"  Probably  she  didn't  know  he  was  a  silly 
soul  when  she  invited  him,"  replied  the 
logical  Rose. 


52  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  It's  over  now,  anyhow.  Scandalous 
hour  for  the  Fac.  to  be  out  of  bed." 

"  What's  That  doing  ?  "  asked  Rose,  point- 
ing to  the  chief. 

"  Reading  the  excellent  Holmes  with  one 
hand  and  reviewing  him  with  the  other. 
Getting  nervous,  too.  Walk  softly  around 
It/' 

The  chief  was  in  a  trance  and  did  not 
hear. 

"  What  have  we  for  this  month  P  " 

"  There's  that  article  on  student  life  in 
Germany,"  began  Mary,  shuffling  over  the 
heaps  of  papers  piled  everywhere,  "  by  the 
special  with  a  name  —  Von  Klondyke  —  " 

"Von  Kronkyte—  " 

"  It's  good.  All  typewritten,  spelled  cor- 
rectly, and  with  commas  at  suitable  distances. 
Then  there's  the  criticism  of  modern  Rus- 
sian novels  by  Frances  Gaylord,  woggly  in 
spots,  but  we  can  brace  it  up  a  bit ;  the 
prize  poem,  and  a  really  poetical  poem  on 
music." 

"  That's  such  a  short  one,  it  won't  fill  up 
at  all." 


PUBLIC  OPINION  53 

"  Then  we  have  that  Indian  massacre 
story  and —  " 

"  Indian  massacre  !  "  the  chief  looked  up 
dazedly,  "where  in  the  world  did  we  get 
that  ?  " 

"  She  means  that  attack  by  robbers  in  the 
Black  Forest.  Go  on,  Mary." 

"  Why,  girls,  there  isn't  any  more  !  Do 
you  hear,  Ann,  there's  only  one  story  and 
two  poems  ! " 

Anna  groped  in  the  air  as  if  seeking  her 
scattered  wits.  Having  secured  them,  she 
beat  Dr.  Holmes  on  the  table  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  gavel. 

"Jessie,  go  beg  Mabel  Ropes  to  write  a 
farce  for  us,  she's  bright  .  at  that  kind  of 
thing.  Tell  her  we'll  write  the  whole 
Vassarion  if  she'll  only  help  us  out  this 
once.  Bring  her  along.  When  she  sees 
our  agonies,  she'll  work  gladly." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  murmured  Mary. 

"  And  rout  out  Sally  to  write  c  At  Ran- 
dom '  jingles  like  c  Moderna  from  Heaven 
was  turned  away,'  and  c  R  is  for  rowdy  young 
rabbit.'  She  can  make  them  by  the  yard." 


54  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Her  room  was  all  dark  when  I  passed  it, 
and  there  was  c  Positively  engaged '  on  the 
door,"  objected  Jessie. 

"  Never  mind  if  it  has  '  Positively  dead  '  on 
it,  she's  got  to  come.  And  Neil  will  help, 
too.  She  never  goes  to  bed,  and  she  can  re- 
view a  book  without  even  knowing  its  name. 
And,  Jessie,  as  you  go  along  sort  of  lurk  in 
the  dark  places,  so  if  any  one  passes  who 
looks  reasonably  intelligent  and  at  the  same 
time  guileless,  you  can  lasso  her.  Rose,  you 
know  that  poetical  Special  with  the  strange 
gowns.  See  if  she  hasn't  an  ode  on  something 
lying  around.  Now,  please  don't  talk.  I 
must  get  Dr.  Holmes  buried,  and  he's  still 
in  the  prime  of  life." 

The  press  gang  returned  soon,  dragging 
Mabel,  cross  and  sleepy,  Neil  in  evening 
gown,  and  with  the  air  of  taking  in  the  "  Mis- 
cellany "  between  two  dances,  and  Emily 
Mackaye,  who  had  been  discovered  cutting 
over  a  fortnightly  theme  and  who  had  been 
induced  to  turn  it  into  a  "  Point  of  View." 
Sally  followed,  in  a  wrapper  of  surpassing 
grandeur  and  pinkness. 


PUBLIC  OPINION  55 

"  Lawk  !  Sally,  where  did  you  get  those 
clothes  ?  I  didn't  know  anybody  had  such 
except  in  a  trousseau,"  said  Mabel,  whose 
own  costume  consisted  of  a  golf  skirt  and  an 
out-at-elbows  dressing-sack. 

"  It's  me  room-mate's.  She's  away  for  a 
week,  I'm  taking  a  few  turns  out  of  her 
gowns  to  keep  the  moths  away,"  returned 
Sally  sweetly.  "  Children,  if  I'm  to  write 
poems,  I've  got  to  have  something  to  sit 
upon.  £  Have  we  no  cheers  ? ' 

"  Pile  up  those  old  Vassarions"  advised 
Lucy.  "  I  thought  we  had  enough  chairs,  I 
brought  in  two  from  next  door  this  morning." 

"  They  were  good  to  lend  them.  We 
haven't  one  to  spare  in  our  room,"  said  Rose. 

"  Oh,  they  weren't  home." 

"  Will  you  be  quiet  ?  "  from  the  chief. 

An  hour  went  by  without  interruptions 
save  an  occasional  "  How  do  you  spell  neces- 
sary ?  "  "  Do  you  think  c  Forecasts  '  a  good 
name  for  my  editorial  ?  "  "Is  basket-ball 
two  separate  words  or  a  hyphenated  one  ?  " 
The  staff  proper  sat  at  the  table,  the  chief 
writing  like  a  machine,  Mary  making  heavy 


56  VASSAR  STORIES 

bars  with  the  traditional  blue  pencil  in  the 
story  she  was  editing,  Lucy  and  Jessie, 
with  heads  close  together,  pounding  out  a 
poem  by  main  strength,  counting  the  words 
to  get  the  metre,  and  clinging  to  the  book 
of  synonyms.  The  little  helpers  were  seated 
around  the  wall,  using  pads  and  old  Miscel- 
lanies for  desks.  Every  one  wore  a  die-in- 
the-ranks-but-finish-the-magazine  expression. 
Mary's  watch  said  2.30  A.M.  Now  and  then 
some  one  would  rise  with  a  tired  sigh  and 
walk  about  the  long,  narrow  room  or  go  out 
to  the  water-tank  for  a  drink.  A  vast  in- 
somnia seemed  to  brood  over  the  first  cor- 
ridor, Main.  Girls  wandered  up  and  down  its 
length,  whispering  or  talking  outright,  call- 
ing to  one  another  in  only  slightly  lowered 
voices,  and  stopping  to  visit  at  various  doors. 

"  I  have  noticed  a  tendency,"  remarked 
Neil  as  an  especially  lively  party  passed, 
"  on  the  part  of  those  dwelling  on  the  first 
corridor  to  hold  the  ten  o'clock  retiring  bell 
in  somewhat  lax  regard." 

"  It's  always  so  down  here,"  said  Rose. 
"  Most  of  the  people  are  unfortunate  Fresh- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  57 

men  poked  off  in  these  rooms.  I  lived  here 
Freshman  year.  We  sported  about  the 
corridors  all  night." 

"  Florence  Kidder  says  she  never  cut  in 
her  life  nor  got  up  early  to  study,  and  she'll 
have  an  honor,  too/*  said  Mary. 

"  She's  a  freak." 

"  She's  mighty  nice,  though." 

"  She  is  that.  She  saved  my  life,"  this 
from  Anna.  Then  by  way  of  explanation, 
"  she  tutored  me  for  a  re.  in  Trig." 

"  Food  !  "  suddenly  exclaimed  Sally. 

"  Where  ?  where  ?  "  in  excited  chorus. 

"  I  must  have  it." 

"  Go  to  Inez  or  Mary  C.  They  live  in  a 
wilderness  of  pleasant  little  pabs,"  advised 
Anna. 

"  Now,  see  here,  fellows,  I  call  it  terrible 
plain  actions  to  wake  a  girl  up  at  three  o'clock 
to  ask  for  food."  Mary  spoke  with  heat. 

"  There  are  those  who  esteem  it  a  privi- 
lege to  be  allowed  to  minister  to  their  suffer- 
ing little  friends,"  said  Neil. 

"  I  can't  see  that  it's  any  worse  to  haul  a 
girl  out  of  bed  to  get  something  to  eat  than 


58  VASSAR  STORIES 

it  is  to  make  one  sit  up  all  night  slaving  over 
your  old  magazine,"  said  Mabel. 

"  Inez  is  a  real  nice-dispositioned  person. 
I  woke  her  up  at  five  the  other  morning  to 
borrow  a  collar  to  wear  to  New  York,  and 
she  was  full  of  kind  words/'  The  chief  was 
drawn  into  the  discussion. 

"  I  hope  you  returned  the  collars,"  said 
Mary.  "  I'd  like  those  of  mine  you  took." 

"  You  can  have  them  back  in  welcome, 
they  don't  fit." 

"  They  fit  me." 

The  atmosphere  was  distinctly  grim. 
Some  one  knocked.  A  very  curly  head  was 
thrust  in. 

"  Don't  let  me  scare  away  the  afflatus. 
Molly  and  I  are  on  cutting.  I  brought 
you  some  of  our  food." 

"  Allah  be  praised  !  " 

"  Betty,  you're  worthy  to  room  with  me, 
and  I'm  proud  you  do." 

"  Dear  Betty." 

"  Betsy,  I  bequeath  you  *  Dr.  Holmes '  in 
my  will,  he's  a  very  interesting  gentleman." 

The  tin  coffee-pot  and  the  plate  of  sand- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  59 

wiches  were  seized  joyously.  The  coffee 
was  of  a  truly  fatal  color,  the  sandwiches 
were  made  of  college  bread  and  butter,  three 
inches  to  the  slice,  but  they  vanished  with 
speed. 

"  Subject  for  c  Point  of  View/  £  Should 
college  bread  and  butter  be  used  to  make 
sandwiches  for  a  Miscellany  cut  ? ' 

"  I  have  eaten  and  drunk,  I  would  sleep 
now,"  said  Sally.  "  I've  written  all  the 
sonnets,  lyrics,  and  other  verse  forms  I'm 
capable  of  for  the  next  five  years.  Please, 
Miss  Nannie,  may  I  go  to  bed  ? " 

"Good-night,  you  good  little  bun,"  said 
Anna,  squeezing  her  hard. 

"  Come  on,  Bet,  glad  to  get  your  plate 
back,  aren't  you  ?  " 

Work  went  on  more  cheerfully  now. 

"  Listen,  would  a  man  if  he  were  — " 
began  Mary. 

"In  love,  tell  a  girl  so  in  that  casual  way  ? 
No,  he  would  not.  Don't  have  a  love  story, 
they're  so  simple  in  the  college  magazine," 
said  Anna. 

"  —  attacked  by  robbers  in  a  lonely  inn," 


60  VASSAR  STORIES 

went  on  Mary,  "  turn  sick  with  terror  and 
creep  into  a  corner?  It's  unnatural  cow- 
ardice." 

"  That's  just  what  he  did  do,  though. 
The  girl  who  wrote  it  told  me  so.  It  was 
her  father,"  said  Rose. 

"Well,  it's  very  unheroic.  I'll  get  her 
to  change  it." 

"  Change  it  yourself." 

"  I  can't.     She'll  be  furious." 

"  As  long  as  I  edit  this  magazine,  things 
are  going  to  be  changed  if  I  want  them  to 
be  ! "  cried  Anna,  roused  to  defend  her  fa- 
vorite theory. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  that's  fair.     I  - 

"  Oh,  Mary,  have  him  rush  upon  his 
enemies  with  a  tomahawk.  Anything  for  a 
quiet  life,"  said  Rose. 

"  Why  don't  the  girls  write  brisk,  up-and- 
coming  college  tales  instead  of  cowboy  stories 
when  they  haven't  been  west  of  Utica  in 
their  whole  lives,  or  extraordinary  love 
effects  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Because,  my  friend,  the  college  story  is 
the  hardest  in  the  world  to  write.  If  you 


PUBLIC  OPINION  61 

explain  customs  and  general  surroundings 
enough  to  enlighten  the  world  without, 
the  grads.  are  bored.  If  you  don't  ex- 
plain, the  public  are  bored/'  said  Rose,  who 
knew. 

"Yes,  and  if  you  write  about  the  work 
people  say  c  how  women  grind  in  their 
narrow  conception  of  an  education/  And  if 
you  write  about  the  fun  they  say  conly 
silly  boarding-school  girls  after  all,  with  no 
earnestness  or  cultivation/  Thank  you,  I'd 
rather  write  two  purpose  novels  and  a  tract 
on  higher  mathematics  than  one  college 
story,"  said  Anna,  who  also  knew. 

"  Lucy,"  said  Jessie,  "  I'm  awfully  sorry, 
but  your  editorial  won't  fit.  It's  too  long. 
What  shall  I  cut  out  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  spent  just  solid  hours 
acquiring  chunks  of  information  on  public 
libraries.  Every  fact  is  important." 

"  Maybe  I  can  leave  out  some  of  your 
deductions." 

"  You  shall  not.  They  are  the  pride  of 
my  life.  Cut  out  the  facts,  but  spare  my 
deductions,  Hubert." 


62  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  The  alumnae  letter  won't  fit,  either.  I 
daren't  leave  out  any  of  their  facts." 

"  Read  it  over  carefully,  omitting  all  the 
thes,  awTs,  bufs,  and  verfs.  You'll  find  it 
makes  a  great  difference,"  advised  Rose. 

"Will  you  ladies  please  read  this  gent's 
name  ?  He's  given  a  set  of  books  to  the 
library."  Lucy  passed  along  a  paper  scrawled 
with  strange  marks. 

"Can't,"  said  Rose,  "leave  it  over  till 
next  time.  We  mustn't  make  any  more 
such  mistakes  as  we  did  when  we  called 
poor  Miss  Todhunter  Toadhunter." 

"  Or  that  Winsky  woman  business  that 
was  published  in  every  month  and  always 
wrong." 

"  Dr.  Holmes  "  —  in  a  feeble  voice  —  "  is 
dead  and  decently  interred.  How  can  I 
help  ? " 

"  Just  read  this  poem  the  Special  sent  in. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

Anna  studied  it  carefully. 

"  It  means  nothing,"  she  announced. 
"  It's  one  of  those  '  puce-colored '  things 
people  love  because  they  can't  possibly 


PUBLIC  OPINION  63 

make  sense  of  them,  so  they  think  they  are 
very  deep.  Put  it  in." 

"  Do  you  think  my  editorial  on  self- 
government,  past  and  present,  will  offend 
the  alums.  ? " 

"  Child,  no  alum,  ever  reads  anything  but 
the  c  Personals  '  and  the  college  news.  No 
one  but  the  Fac.  ever  reads  the  editorials. 
They  won't  be  pleased,  whatever  you  say,  so 
have  some  fun  freeing  your  mind.  Probably 
one  of  the  professors  will  make  it  a  subject 
of  discussion  in  class,  and  say  it  repre- 
sents the  college  as  a  broken-down  institu- 
tion to  which  no  parent  would  ever  send 
his  daughter.  And  Prexy  will  give  a  chapel 
talk  on  it  with  an  appendix  in  the  lecture- 
room.  You'll  feel  like  a  hero  and  a  martyr 
and  a  fool  all  in  one.  So  go  ahead." 

"  Girls,"  said  Mary  with  a  mighty  stretch, 
"it's  nearly  five  o'clock.  Do  let's  go  to 
bed  and  finish  up  in  the  morning.  It  won't 
take  ten  minutes  then.  Dr.  Holmes,  if  you 
wish  me  to  protect  you  to  your  room,  you've 
got  to  get  out  of  your  present  c  catamouse ' 
state  and  come  along." 


64  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Mary,"  said  Anna,  as  they  groped  their 
way  out  into  the  corridor,  "  could  any  c  fel- 
low-student '  bring  aught  against  the  delib- 
eration and  care  with  which  we  edit  this 
magazine  ? " 


HER  POSITION 


Her   Position 

THE  end  double  on  fourth,  Main,  bore 
on  its  front  a  small  sign,  marked 
"  Engaged."  This  room  sported  the  Vassar 
oak  often.  At  such  times  one  heard  the 
tinkle  of  guitars  and  voices  singing  "The 
Road  to  Mandalay  "  and  "  Kentucky  Babe," 
or,  if  music  were  absent,  the  no  less  attractive 
cries  of  "  Last  call  for  oysters,"  "  Olives 
needed  at  the  left,  please,"  which  show  that 
a  feast  is  toward.  At  all  hours  you  could 
hear  bubbling  laughter  and  lively  voices. 
This  night,  however,  the  room  was  perfectly 
quiet.  Only  the  line  of  light  under  the  door 
told  that  its  owners  were  home.  Two  di- 
shevelled figures  halted  outside  the  door. 
The  corridor,  usually  clamorous  till  ten 
o'clock, —  and  after, —  was  curiously  silent. 
Once  in  a  while  a  monotonous  voice 
sounded  from  some  room,  "And  Hannibal, 
sending  his  elephants  in  a  line  ahead,"  or 
67 


68  VASSAR  STORIES 

a  worried  one,  inquiring,  "If  line  cd  equals 
line  ab>  how  does  that  affect  line  ef?  " 

It  was  the  night  before  the  February  mid- 
year exams.  Those  who  had  worked  con- 
scientiously all  the  semester  and  those  who 
had  floated  butterfly-wise  through  daily  tasks 
were  toiling  hideously.  For  this  was  a 
Freshman  corridor,  and  the  terror  of  the 
first  Vassar  exam,  lay  heavy  upon  all. 

"  Let's  knock  up  Arna,"  whispered  one 
of  the  girls,  "she's  not  studying.  She's  a 
regular  shark  without  even  trying." 

"  You  can  just  make  up  your  little  mind 
she's  acquiring  information  in  solid  chunks 
as  well  as  the  rest  of  them.  All  Freshmen 
cram  chock  full  for  exams.  They  haven't 
any  more  wit." 

The  two  Sophomores  separated,  one  to  seek 
a  warranted-to-get-any-one-through  tutor, 
and  the  other  to  taste  the  delights  of  Ger- 
man literature  till  morning. 

Within  the  double  a  rather  doleful  light, 
produced  by  a  broken  Welsbach,  showed 
two  girls  working  as  only  Freshmen  ever  do 
or  can,  ceaselessly,  despairingly.  One,  in 


HER  POSITION  69 

clothes,  and  with  neatly  triced  up  hair,  sat 
bolt  upright  at  a  desk,  writing  slowly.  The 
other,  a  crumpled  heap  of  pink  wrapper  and 
yellow  hair,  was  gabbling  excitedly. 

"  Barbara  Sterling,  do  you  mean  to  say 
you've  reached  the  second  book  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have.     Where  are  you  at  ?  " 

cc  At  nothing  !  I  can't  remember  one  of 
the  book  props. ;  and,  as  for  the  originals,  I 
never  saw  their  silly  faces  before." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  doing  with  all 
those  extraneous  geometries  ?  They  don't 
help  any." 

"  I  have  packed  them  around  me  so  I'll 
sort  of  soak  in  props,  through  my  skin." 

"  Barbara  !  "  after  two  minutes.  "  Bab  ! 
Lady  Babbie  ! " 

"Arna,  it's  really  very  inconsiderate  in 
you  —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  I've  knocked  out  two 
or  three  noble  ideas,  but  I  must  get  your 
opinion.  You  know  the  minds  of  the 
f  Olympians  '  like  an  X-ray,  usually.  Shall 
we  have  the  devil's  coffin,  and  that  pyramid 
effect  in  the  second  book,  and  this  thing 


yo  VASSAR  STORIES 

that  looks  like  an  invoice  of  bird-cages 
after  a  trolley  collision  ?  You  don't  think 
they'll  have  the  heart  to  ask  for  those,  do 
you?" 

""Won't  they!  They  dote  on  them.  I've 
seen  every  geometry  paper  for  the  last  five 
years,  and  those  are  on  every  one." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  can't  do  them  !  I  never 
understood  what  they  meant,  and  I  can't  learn 
them  by  heart,  though  I've  tried  for  hours." 

"  You'll  flunk  then."  Barbara's  tone  was 
more  sympathetic  than  her  words. 

"  I  don't  care.  Yes,  I  do,  awfully  !  I 
think  the  attitude  of  the  girls  here  towards 
flunking  is  perfectly  ridiculous.  They  act 
as  if  you  had  robbed  a  bank  and  eloped  with 
your  coachman,  and  they  make  you  feel  so, 
too.  The  teachers  are  just  as  bad,  they  have 
a  c  poor  thing,  she  has  sinned,  but  she  has 
repented,'  air  that  makes  me  wild.  Why 
don't  they  look  at  it  as  the  usual  thing,  and 
the  getting  through  as  the  surprise  ?  That's 
the  way  men  feel.  My  brother  flunks  right 
and  left,  and  he  thinks  it's  grand." 

"  I  don't.     It  isn't  a  disgrace,  of  course 


HER  POSITION  71 

I  don't  think  that.  But  I'd  be  ashamed  if  I 
were  so  stupid  or  so  careless  I  couldn't  pass 
ordinary  undergraduate  work." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't.  It's  the  way  the  girls 
take  it  makes  me  dread  it  so.  They'll  be 
so  surprised  that  Arna  Kellar,  who  spouted 
so  in  class,  didn't  know  enough  to  escape 
flunking.  They'll  look  just  the  way  those 
Seniors  did  when  Mabel  Hall's  name  had  a 
star  against  it  in  the  catalogue,  as  if  she'd 
been  a  cheat  all  through  college,  and  had  im- 
posed on  them  with  a  kind  of  brilliancy, 
when  really  she  didn't  know  enough  to  go  in 
out  of  the  wet." 

"  The  girls  needn't  ever  know  it,  honey." 

"They  will,  just  the  same.  It  always 
leaks  out.  I'm  not  going  through  any  se- 
cret society  performances,  either.  I'm  going 
to  stand  out  in  the  corridor,  the  way  May 
Wilks  did,  and  just  shout,  '  Say,  everybody, 
I've  flunked  my  geometry.'  It's  enough  to 
make  the  girls  cheat  to  be  on  such  a  strain." 

"  But  it  doesn't.  Your  theory  hasn't  any 
facts  behind  it.  You  know  there  isn't  a 
fraud  in  Vassar  once  in  three  years.  I'm 


72  VASSAR  STORIES 

proud  of  it  for  that."  Barbara  pushed  her 
chair  back  excitedly. 

"  I  wish  they  did." 

"  Arna  Kellar,  you  —  I  know  you  don't 
mean  that.  Don't  you  think  it's  the  finest 
thing  here,  that  no  one  watches  us  ?  We're 
alone  in  the  room  half  the  time,  we  keep 
our  books  in  our  laps,  and  we're  squeezed 
into  one  another's  pockets,  yet  not  a  girl 
cheats." 

"  Why,  do  you  suppose  ?  Are  we  honester 
than  men  ? " 

"  No.  Yes.  We  must  be.  Somehow  it 
doesn't  seem  so  bad  in  men,  because  it's  the 
expected  thing.  The  Fac.  know  it  and 
watch  out  for  it.  It's  a  kind  of  a  game  the 
men  play  with  the  professors." 

ct  I  bet  I  could  play  it  to  win  !  "  laughed 
Arna. 

ec  But  you  can't  here.  It  would  be  so 
cowardly,  so  mean,  when  you  can  do  it  as 
easy  as  breathing.  Besides,  when  you  come 
right  down  to  it,  it's  lying.  You  may  call  it 
a  game  or  a  trick  or  anything  you  please ; 
but  it's  just  plain,  ordinary  lies." 


HER  POSITION  73 

"  I  know  it,"  agreed  Arna.  "  It  must  be 
sort  of  fun,  though.  I  won't  interrupt 
again,  for  true,"  as  Barbara  screwed  ner- 
vously in  her  seat. 

Both  girls  studied  silently  while  the  clock 
on  the  desk  ran  races  with  itself.  Barbara 
Sterling  was  just  a  girl  like  a  hundred  others 
at  Vassar,  and  a  thousand  outside.  But 
Arna  was  one  in  a  century.  It  was  not  her 
beauty  and  her  brilliancy  that  made  her  re- 
markable, though  she  possessed  both,  it  was 
that  she  was  the  embodied  spirit  of  youth  it- 
self; the  vivid,  joyous,  tireless  youth  which 
poets  and  painters  love.  With  her  the  year 
was  always  at  the  spring,  the  morning  at 
seven.  She  seemed  the  daughter  of  an  ear- 
lier race  who  lived  before  the  world  was  ever 
sick  or  sorry.  The  girls  called  her  "un- 
moral," "  Greek,"  and  asked  to  see  the  furry 
ears  hidden  beneath  her  hair.  Yet  they  fol- 
lowed her  as  one  follows  a  cool  wind  on 
a  languid  summer  day.  She  ruled  the  class 
by  the  divine  right  of  personal  magnetism. 

She  was  chairman  of  the  first  class  meet- 
ing, where  the  stream  of  young  women 


74  VASSAR  STORIES 

brought  up  on  Roberts's  "  Rules  of  Order," 
who  talk  awesomely  of  "  privilege  motions  " 
and  "previous  business,"  meets  the  stream 
of  young  women  who  wouldn't  know  a  mo- 
tion if  they  saw  it  and  talk  five  at  once. 
She  soothed  and  patted  and  scolded  and 
coaxed  this  chaotic  mass  into  decency  and 
order,  and  escaped  unharmed,  For  which  the 
class  made  her  president,  by  unanimous  vote. 
At  the  end  of  two  months  she  belonged  to 
all  the  worth-while  societies  and  many  that 
were  not,  had  acted  in  the  first  hall  play, 
knew  half  the  college  to  speak  to,  and  had 
a  king's  guard  of  devoted  friends.  She 
played  gayly  from  week's  end  to  week's  end, 
and  thought  Vassar  the  maiden's  paradise. 

But  uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a 
crown  at  exam.  time.  Half  of  Arna's  power, 
and  she  knew  it,  lay  in  her  brilliant  scholar- 
ship. At  Vassar  there  is  a  cold  shoulder 
for  both  Miss  Grind  and  Mademoiselle 
Fripon.  She  who  can  stand  high  in  her  class 
and  yet  keep  in  with  most  of  the  fun  can 
"have"  the  other  girls.  Arna  had  done  it 
because  of  a  nimble  wit  that  flew  the  faster 


HER  POSITION  75 

in  dangerous  situations,  and  a  luck  which 
was  fairly  ominous.  She  knew,  however, 
that  neither  wit  nor  luck  availeth  anything 
against  a  blank  sheet  of  paper,  and  a  profes- 
sor wearied  beyond  even  humanity  by  the 
same  mistakes  in  a  hundred  different  an- 
swers. 

Both  girls  lagged  down  to  breakfast  half 
an  hour  late.  Barbara  looked  gray  and 
pinched,  but  Arna  was  as  fresh  as  if  newly 
created.  The  cross,  nervous  Freshmen  at 
the  table  held  up  their  heads  with  a  flicker 
of  animation  as  Arna  swept  in. 

"I'm  going  skating  before  exams.,"  she 
announced.  "  My  head  feels  cracky  in 
spots.  I  want  air." 

"  I'm  going  to  do  the  most  foolish  act, 
study  up  to  the  last  moment,"  answered 
Barbara,  rising  from  an  uneaten  breakfast. 

When  Barbara  entered  Phil.  Hall,  she 
found  that  the  examination  was  ready  to 
begin.  She  dropped  into  the  last  row  of 
seats,  noticing,  as  she  did  so,  that  Arna  was 
the  only  other  person  in  it.  Her  room- 
mate wore  a  half-defiant,  half-gay  smile. 


76  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  She'll  get  through  !  "  thought  Barbara, 
then,  as  she  read  the  questions,  "  She  can't. 
They've  asked  for  the  bird-cages,  and  the 
pyramid,  and  all  those  she  didn't  learn." 

An  hour  later  Barbara  dragged  herself 
out  of  the  mathematical  abyss  into  which 
she  had  sunk  to  borrow  some  paper.  She 
turned  towards  Arna,  who  with  her  back 
half-around  was  writing  steadily.  Barbara 
leaned  over.  She  stared  a  full  minute  in 
frightened  surprise.  Then  she  slipped  back 
in  her  place.  She  had  seen  Arna  cheating  ! 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  carefully  drawn 
and  labelled  figures  on  the  small  squares  of 
paper.  She  was  doing  it  coolly,  too,  as  if 
it  had  all  been  planned  long  before.  Barbara 
stared  helplessly  at  her  own  paper.  The 
inexorable  questions  seized  hold  of  her 
again.  She  forgot  that  she  had  a  room-mate, 
even. 

At  luncheon  a  withered-looking  set  of 
girls  listened  in  impotent  rage  while  the 
mathematical  genius  of  the  class  explained 
all  the  mistakes  in  their  answers,  and  how 
easily  they  might  have  avoided  them.  Arna 


HER  POSITION  77 

laughed  and  chaffed  the  genius.  She  wasn't 
even  tired.  Barbara  worried  all  the  after- 
noon over  what  she  had  seen  in  the  morning. 
Ought  she  to  talk  to  Arna  about  it  or  not  ? 
She  finally  decided  that  she  ought  to,  but 
that  she  could  not. 

The  last  examination  of  the  week  was 
Latin.  Barbara  thought  of  that  and  shivered. 
Arna  was  weak  in  Latin  prose.  Fate  put 
them  side  by  side.  Fate  made  her  look  up 
just  in  time  to  see  what  she  wanted  above 
everything  not  to  see.  Was  it  deliberate  on 
Arna's  part,  this  cheating,  or  was  it  because 
she  was  always  so  self-possessed  that  she 
showed  neither  flurry  nor  shame  now? 
Some  one  else  had  seen  her.  The  Freshman 
on  Arna's  left  looked  over  at  Barbara,  her 
eyes  said,  "  We  know,  don't  we  ?  but  we'll 
never  tell."  She  was  a  foolish  little  thing, 
who  worshipped  Arna.  She  would  keep  the 
secret  safely  enough,  but  she  would  say  to 
herself,  "  Arna  Kellar  cheats  and  Barbara 
Sterling  keeps  quiet  about  it.  I  can  cheat, 
too,  if  I  please."  Barbara  had  a  good  deal 
of  weight  in  the  class. 


78  VASSAR  STORIES 

Barbara  broke  away  from  a  crowd  of  girls 
who  circled  about  her  in  the  corridor  after 
chapel.  They  were  going  to  celebrate  with 
a  grand  feast  what  might  be  the  last  night 
of  happiness  for  many.  To-morrow  the 
flunk  notes  would  appear.  She  pinned 
"  Asleep  "  on  her  door, —  no  one  would  heed 
their  "  Engaged  "  now  the  time  of  storm  and 
stress  was  over.  She  sat  down  in  the  arm- 
chair and  looked  at  Arna,  resting  on  the 
couch  with  the  new  Jungle  Book  and  a  box 
of  Huyler's. 

"  You  cheated  in  exams.  I  saw  you." 
The  words  said  themselves,  violently. 

"  I  didn't !  "     Arna  was  on  her  feet. 

"  Don't  you  dare  deny  it !  I  saw  you, 
twice,  in  geometry  and  in  Latin." 

Arna  stood  perfectly  quiet.  She  hardly 
seemed  to  understand  the  words.  Suddenly 
she  flung  herself  on  the  couch,  sobbing 
fiercely  and  beating  the  pillows  with  her 
hands.  Barbara  was  not  prepared  for  this. 
She  had  expected  denial,  excuse.  She  had 
never  seen  Arna  even  depressed.  Now  she 
was  listening  to  what  might  have  been  the 


HER  POSITION  79 

cries  of  an  animal  in  pain.  It  was  terrible. 
She  ran  to  the  couch  and  knelt  by  it. 

"  Don't,  Arna,  don't !  You  didn't  mean 
to.  You  were  tempted.  You  — "  The 
memory  of  Arna's  face  in  the  examination 
made  her  catch  her  breath. 

"  Who  knows  it  ?  " 

"Only  I  and — I  think — Lily  Thomas. 
I  haven't  told  a  soul." 

"And  she  never  will!" 

"You'll  tell  yourself.  You'll  go  to  the 
Fac.  and  confess." 

"  You  simpleton  !  "  Arna  laughed  aloud. 
Her  laugh  was  more  shocking  even  than  her 
tears. 

She  pulled  Barbara  on  to  the  couch,  kneel- 
ing in  her  place.  She  clasped  her  waist  with 
her  arms  and  kissed  her.  Her  eyes  were 
wild  still,  but  her  voice  was  caressing.  She 
begged  and  reasoned  that  Barbara  would  not 
tell,  that  she  would  not  even  ask  her  to  con- 
fess herself,  that  the  past  might  be  the  past, 
and  a  fresh  start  taken. 

"  Promise,  Lady  Babbie,  promise.  Don't 
ruin  my  life  in  college !  Don't  make  me  a 


80  VASSAR  STORIES 

despised,  shunned  thing.  Promise  !  prom- 
ise ! " 

And  Barbara  promised.  Not  till  she  lay 
wakeful  in  bed  did  she  realize  that  Arna  had 
not  said  one  word  of  real  remorse.  All  her 
grief  had  been  lest  the  girls  should  know 
and  she  be  cc  ruined." 

The  subject  was  never  mentioned  again. 
Sometimes  in  the  spring  semester,  when  Bar- 
bara saw  Arna  golfing,  boating,  or  idling 
about  the  campus  all  day  without  a  thought 
of  study  and  only  an  occasional  one  of  classes, 
she  longed  to  say,  "  Remember/'  But  Bar- 
bara hated  nagging. 

The  first  day  of  the  Finals  had  come. 
The  heat  was  sickening.  Girls  who  had 
managed  to  squeeze  through  Chauvenet's 
Geometry  dared  not  hope  for  such  luck  in 
Hall  and  Knight's  Algebra.  Every  one 
was  morose.  People  were  late  at  the  Hall. 
Seats  gave  out.  There  was  great  confusion 
and  shuffling  about.  Barbara  sat  down  dis- 
gustedly in  a  seat,  determined  to  stay  there, 
no  matter  who  else  was  ousted.  She  jumped 
up  quickly.  Arna  was  beside  her,  and  that 


HER  POSITION  81 

other  Freshman !  With  an  effort  she  sat 
down  again. 

The  examination  over,  Barbara  took  a  long 
walk  by  herself.  She  had  forgotten  to  worry 
over  whether  she  had  passed  or  not.  She 
had  seen  Arna  cheat  again.  The  Freshman 
had  seen  her,  too. 

Some  one  haled  Barbara  away  to  her  room 
to  see  an  old  grad.  The  old  grad.  proved 
to  be  a  young  and  pretty  woman,  who  was 
relating  to  a  roomful  of  girls,  too  far  from 
graduation  to  be  vitally  interested,  her  ex- 
periences as  a  school-teacher.  She  caught 
her  breath  long  enough  to  greet  the  new- 
comers, then  went  on  with  her  tale.  It 
was  of  the  vast  amount  of  cheating  in  the 
prep,  schools.  The  old  grad.  grew  very 
earnest  over  it.  She  begged  the  Vassar  girls 
to  keep  up  the  old-time  standard  of  absolute 
honor  in  all  ways,  not  only  for  the  good  to 
the  college  itself,  but  for  the  influence  it 
might  have  on  the  schools.  Her  enthusiasm 
and  her  scorn  of  the  evil  wrought  on  her 
hearers,  always  strong  in  defence  of  honest 
work.  Barbara  listened,  painfully.  Her 


82  VASSAR  STORIES 

own  mind  had  been  grinding  that  subject 
over  and  over  all  day. 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  saw  a  girl 
cheat  twice,  and  told  her,  and  then  you  saw 
her  do  it  again?  "  she  burst  out. 

"  Expose  her,  and  help  send  her  to  Coven- 
try," cried  the  old  grad. 

"  I  think  she  ought  to  be  made  a  warning. 
It  might  do  her  good,  and  it  surely  would 
the  college,"  said  Sarah  Ralph,  a  severe-look- 
ing girl. 

Barbara  told  her  story  in  detail,  omitting 
the  names. 

"  You  say  another  girl  saw  it,  and  knows 
you  did,  too  ?  "  asked  the  grad.  "  I  think 
it  is  your  duty  to  the  college  to  tell.  That 
other  girl  may  cheat  and  by  her  example  in- 
fluence a  third,  and  she  a  fourth,  and  so  on, 
endlessly."  The  old  grad.  made  a  dramatic 
little  gesture. 

"  It's  right  abstractly ;  but,  oh,  how  hard 
for  the  girl  ! "  said  Lois  Duncan. 

"  Tell,  Barbara  !  "  "  We'll  cut  her  dead." 
"  Tell !  you  must  for  the  college,"  came 
from  all  sides.  Barbara  hesitated,  fright- 


HER  POSITION  83 

ened,  unhappy.  Outside  in  the  corridor 
she  heard  Arna's  voice,  careless,  gay. 
"Can't  stop,  my  dear,  I've  loafed  the  en- 
tire semester.  I'm  a  gloomy  grind  for  all 
this  week." 

"Arna,"  said  Barbara  as  the  two  were 
going  to  bed. 

"  Mm  ? "  said  Arna,  her  mouth  full  of 
tooth-brush. 

Barbara  clasped  her  hands  tightly  to- 
gether. An  indignant  and  shocked  group 
of  girls  had  passed  sentence  on  Arna  and 
deputized  her  to  deliver  it,  but  Barbara  had 
loved  Arna. 

"  I've  told  the  girls  about  the  two  times 
you  cheated  last  exams.,  and  to-day,"  she 
rushed  the  words  out  anyway. 

«  You  did  !     What  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  You're  —  they  —  it's  for  the  sake  of 
college  — "  she  could  not  finish.  Arna 
laughed  defiantly,  insolently  almost. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  girls,"  was  all  she 
said. 

Barbara  had  braced  herself  for  a  scene 
like  the  former  one.  Arna  began  to  whistle. 


84  VASSAR  STORIES 

She  kept  it  up  till  the  lights  were  out.  Soon 
after,  Barbara,  quivering  and  crying  silently, 
heard  her  breathing  in  sleep. 

It  was  hard  to  believe  that  beautiful, 
witty,  fascinating  Queen  Arna  could  be  de- 
posed, harder  still  that  she  could  be 
ignored.  Yet  no  one  in  her  class  spoke  to 
her,  not  even  Barbara.  The  minute  the  last 
exam,  was  over  Arna  left  the  college. 

The  first  night  of  the  fall  semester  every 
one  is  glad  to  be  back.  It's  a  wrench,  to  be 
sure,  to  give  up  home  and  the  enthralling 
do-nothingness  of  vacation  ;  but,  oh  !  it's  so 
good  to  see  Lois  and  Sarah  and  Molly  and 
Betty  again.  One's  family  is  lovely,  of 
course,  and  quantities  of  agreeable  folk  float 
about  in  summer ;  but  the  girls  are  the  girls ; 
no  one  just  fills  their  place.  Barbara  ran 
from  room  to  room,  where  she  was  welcomed 
with  shouts  and  rejoicings.  Scraps  of  news 
were  called  out  to  her  as  she  flitted  from 
one  place  to  another. 

"  I've  got  my  single  at  last —  " 

"  The  new  English  teacher  was  at  our 
hotel  this  summer.  She — " 


HER  POSITION  85 

"  All  the  rooms  have  Welsbachs.  We  can't 
make  fudges  any  —  " 

"  Barbara/'  this  time  in  a  whisper,  "  Arna 
Kellar  is  back." 

"  She  is  !  How  will  she  act  ?  How  will 
the  girls  act  to  her?  " 

Both  questions  were  answered  within  the 
week.  No  one  in  the  class  spoke  to  her. 
She  never  seemed  to  know  she  was  being 
cut.  She  went  through  the  corridors,  en- 
tered chapel  and  the  dining-room,  walked, 
golfed,  wheeled,  did  everything,  with  all  the 
old  strong,  sweet  gayety.  She  seemed  as 
happy  shut  up  to  herself  as  in  the  days 
when  half  college  thronged  around  her. 
She  did  not  repulse  the  overtures  by  mem- 
bers of  the  other  classes,  who  only  half- 
understood  the  matter,  yet  she  made  them 
feel  she  would  rather  not  receive  them. 
This  was  no  bravado  of  a  week,  but  the 
steady  life  of  all  winter.  She  was  perfectly 
alone,  she  was  perfectly  happy. 

"  She  has  no  heart,"  thought  Barbara  bit- 
terly, "  she  is  just  a  beautiful  body  without 
conscience  or  feeling." 


86  VASSAR  STORIES 

Arna  returned  her  Junior  year  and  again 
her  Senior.  By  this  time  college  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  her  position.  She  made 
no  new  friends,  and  such  of  the  old  as 
wished  to  receive  her  back  into  favor  she 
treated  with  smiling  indifference.  She  did 
not  appear  to  shun  the  girls,  nevertheless 
she  was  never  there  when  they  tried  to  talk 
to  her.  At  first  Barbara  had  missed  Arna 
sorely.  She  was  one  of  the  people  who 
like  fun  but  cannot  make  it.  Arna's  unfail- 
ing joy  had  kept  her  in  a  sort  of  delighted 
surprise.  Barbara  did  not  care  for  many 
people,  she  never  expected  to  love  another 
girl  as  she  had  once  loved  Arna.  Her  own 
share  in  Arna's  disgrace  vexed  her  mind  con- 
stantly. Was  she  a  self-righteous  prig?  a 
disloyal  tell-tale  ?  or  was  she  a  youthful 
Brutus  doing  justice  on  even  her  own  blood  ? 
She  could  never  decide.  Life  at  college  is 
too  intense,  too  eager,  to  let  one  brood  long 
over  anything.  Arna  and  the  whole  un- 
happiness  connected  with  her  were  swept 
into  the  back  of  Barbara's  memory. 

Senior  year  had    come,   and  with    it    the 


HER  POSITION  87 

presidentships  of  clubs,  the  chairmanships  of 
committees,  and,  most  onerous  burden  of  all, 
the  responsibility  for  that  mystery  known  as 
"  the  tone  "  of  college.  Some  Seniors  are  so 
impressed  by  this  that  they  never  get  back  to 
a  normal  state.  Their  whole  after  life  is  spent 
in  alternately  moralizing  over  and  trying  to 
alter  "  the  tone  "  of  the  place  they  happen  to 
inhabit.  Other  Seniors,  the  more  light- 
minded,  refuse  to  be  as  gods  while  in  college. 
These  same,  however,  gasp  with  consternation 
when  they  find  how  little  the  big  world  cares 
about  them,  or  their  college,  or  their  beautiful 
degree.  They  begin  to  wish  they  had  lorded 
it  more  regally  while  yet  their  little  day  en- 
dured. 

No  one  appears  to  study  much  of  any- 
thing Senior  year,  unless  it  be  some  spe- 
cial topic  devotee  or  some  unlucky  wight 
captured  for  an  ethics  debate,  but  every  one 
is  fiercely  busy.  The  underclassman  who 
rooms  with  a  Senior  may  count  on  the  parlor 
being  occupied  three  nights  in  the  week  by  a 
clamorous  committee,  and  the  other  four  by 
heated  discussions  on  the  great  questions  of 


88  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  day  :  Will  you,  if  you  get  an  honor,  re- 
fuse it  ?  Will  the  Fac.  be  fair  in  disqualifying 
Emily  Brown  for  an  honor  because  of  poor 
Freshman  work?  Are  honors  just?  Is  there 
peace  and  harmony  between  the  Fac.  and  the 
students?  If  there  isn't,  why  not?  and  many 
others.  The  discussions  are  one  of  the 
pleasantest  parts  of  Senior  year.  They  lead 
nowhere,  as  nobody  ever  converts  anybody 
else,  and  the  Faculty  wouldn't  pay  any  atten- 
tion even  if  the  whole  college  was  of  one 
mind  ;  but  the  zest  of  argument  is  just  as  joy- 
ous as  if  mighty  results  were  brought  to  pass. 
Barbara's  Senior  year  was  a  bitterly  hard 
one.  She  was  a  slow  girl,  who  could  just 
keep  up  with  the  required  work  under  the 
most  favorable  conditions.  She  was  not  well 
her  Junior  year,  and  so  fell  behind.  The 
fall  of  her  Senior  year  she  had  a  long  fever. 
If  any  of  you  have  ever  had  a  block  of 
time  cut  out  of  your  college  life  by  illness, 
you  know  the  wearisome  drag,  drag,  of  topics 
that  never  get  finished,  essays  that  never  get 
written,  lessons  that  never  catch  up.  All  the 
labor-saving  devices,  from  a  good  tutor  to 


HER  POSITION  89 

"a  judicious  slur/'  are  powerless  to  pull  the 
ordinary  student  up  into  line.  Barbara 
plodded  drearily  along,  tired,  discouraged, 
unhappy.  She  had  too  much  pluck  and  too 
little  wisdom  to  go  home  and  be  graduated 
in  the  next  class. 

One  hot  May  afternoon,  when  drowsy 
sounds  stole  in  through  the  open  windows, 
and  a  faint  haze  dimmed  the  keenness  of  the 
spring  green,  she  rose  from  the  last  lecture 
of  the  day  nervous  and  exhausted.  She 
stopped  to  speak  to  the  professor  about  some 
of  the  never  completed  back  work. 

cc  Miss  Sterling,"  said  the  professor  hesi- 
tatingly, "  your  work  is  not  quite  up  to  the 
standard.  You  have  probably  been  espe- 
cially interested  in  some  other  subject  and  so 
have  neglected  this." 

Barbara  smiled  grimly.  "  Am  I  going  to 
flunk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,  a  thorough  review, 
good  papers  in  the  written  lessons  and  at 
examination  time,  will  put  you  all  right." 

Barbara  walked  wearily  downstairs,  the 
elevator  being  in  its  usual  damaged  condition. 


90  VASSAR  STORIES 

She  stood  still  a  minute  by  the  open  door  of 
the  Faculty  parlor,  and  looked  into  the  mir- 
ror which  once  reflected  the  turns  and  twirls 
of  countless  girls  in  the  old  days  when  the 
room  was  J.  She  saw  herself  sallow-faced, 
hollow-eyed,  thin,  and  drooping.  Even  her 
clothes  seemed  to  share  the  general  depres- 
sion, they  looked  flaccid  and  draggled. 

"  If  I  flunk  and  have  to  study  for  a  re. 
Senior  vacation,  I  shall  die  dead."  She  swal- 
lowed two  fat  tears  that  ran  into  her  mouth. 
"  I  can  just  manage  to  crawl  on  till  then,  but 
I  can't  do  another  stroke." 

Some  one  passed  her  with  flying  feet.  It 
was  Arna  Kellar,  dressed  for  dinner  in  a 
gown  that  seemed  all  fresh,  fluffy  frills  and 
rose  ribbon.  Her  hair  shone  like  gold,  her 
cheeks  were  vivid  pink,  her  whole  air  was 
radiant.  Barbara  felt  a  great  longing  to  be 
near  her,  to  have  her  strength  revive  her,  as 
in  the  old  days. 

"Arna!"  she  called.  They  had  not 
spoken  for  three  years. 

"  Yes  ?  "  Arna  was  as  cool  as  if  she  had 
parted  from  Barbara  only  an  hour  ago. 


HER  POSITION  91 

"  Isn't  it  a  pretty  day  ?  " 

"  Too  hot,  don't  you  think  ? "  and  she 
was  gone. 

Barbara  wandered  lifelessly  out  to  the 
Oval.  She  could  not  watch  the  basket-ball 
practice  going  on  there.  It  hurt  her  to  see 
every  one  so  alive  and  jolly.  She  thought 
she  should  like  to  find  Georgia  Oberley,  who 
of  course  was  grinding  nervously  along 
somewhere,  and  work  and  worry  and  be 
miserable  with  her.  Georgia's  anxious,  hur- 
ried face  was  the  only  one  she  wanted  to  see 
now. 

An  agitated  rustle  stirred  the  lecture-room 
the  next  morning.  A  drop  quiz,  and  from 
a  clear  sky  !  Barbara  propped  her  head  on 
her  hand  and  stared  at  the  Greek  quotation 
written  on  the  board.  She  knew  it  perfectly, 
if  she  could  only  get  started  on  it.  Her 
mind,  past  all  power  of  original  thinking, 
would  work  of  itself,  she  knew,  if  it  were 
only  set  a-going.  If  some  one  would  only 
give  her  the  first  line,  the  first  sentence  even ! 
She  remembered  reading  Jane  Barlow's  story, 
"  Mr.  Polymathers,"  in  which  an  old  man 


92  VASSAR  STORIES 

after  half  a  century  of  writing  gets  his  chance 
at  Dublin  College.  He  goes  up,  is  con- 
fronted with  "a  bit  of  Virgil  I'd  known  all 
me  days,"  and  cannot  read  one  word  of  it. 
She  understood  that  story  now.  The  whole 
quiz  was  on  that  quotation,  its  "philos- 
ophy," "  philology,"  "  subjectivity,"  and 
several  other  things  the  old  Greek  who 
wrote  it  never  imagined  were  in  it.  And 
this  was  the  subject  in  which  she  had  been 
warned ! 

Who  was  that  hateful  party  opposite  her 
at  the  table,  writing  like  the  wind  ?  Arna  ! 
No  fear  of  her  cheating  now,  she  was  the 
most  thorough-going  student  in  the  class. 
If  she  could  only  be  a  mind-reader  for  one 
instant !  Arna  had  laid  her  papers  out  on 
the  table ;  her  handwriting  might  have 
served  on  a  sign-board.  Suppose  she,  Bar- 
bara Sterling,  were  to  read  the  first  line,  only 
the  first  one!  Suppose  she  were  to  be  a 
cheat  and  a  liar ! 

She  read  the  first  page.  Then,  just  as 
she  expected,  her  mind  began  to  grind  in 
the  old  track.  She  copied  Arna's  pages  as 


HER  POSITION  93 

mechanically  as  a  machine,  correcting  her 
mistakes,  profiting  by  her  better  choice  of 
words.  The  bell  sounded,  the  hour  had 
gone  in  her  struggle  to  get  started.  She 
folded  her  paper  together  with  a  wornout 
sigh.  Not  till  then  did  she  look  up.  Arna 
was  watching  her  with  an  odd  expression, 
impossible  to  read.  Had  she  seen  ? 

Barbara  walked  to  her  room  and  went  to 
sleep.  Her  last  thought  was,  "You  are 
a  liar."  She  did  not  care  especially. 

She  slept  till  the  spring  twilight  crept  in 
and  hid  the  sunbeams.  The  long  rest 
broke  her  unnatural  calm.  She  lashed  her- 
self for  her  fault  as  only  a  sensitive,  overcon- 
scientious  girl  can.  She  called  it  her  "un- 
pardonable sin."  Hot  and  tousely  from 
sleep,  she  hurried  to  the  professor's  room. 
No,  her  written  lesson  had  not  passed  her ; 
but,  in  reviewing  her  work  for  the  semester,  it 
seemed  better  than  the  professor  had  at  first 
thought,  so  she  was  as  yet  unconditioned. 
The  lesson  had  not  counted  greatly  either 
way.  She  was  very  busy,  would  Miss  Sterl- 
ing call  again?  No  chance  for  confession 
to-night. 


94  VASSAR  STORIES 

Every  one  was  out  on  the  campus. 
People  with  work  that  must  be  done  before 
first  hour  soothed  their  consciences  by  tell- 
ing them  that  from  5  to  7  A.M.  was  the 
prince  of  times  for  studying.  Of  course,  no 
one  would  really  get  up  at  that  hour. 
It  is  only  when  you  are  a  Freshman  that 
you  grope  along  the  corridors  in  the  dreary 
"  false  dawn "  to  some  room  where  queer 
soups,  made  out  of  canned  mysteries,  and 
queerer  mental  food,  await  you.  People 
without  work  —  or  consciences  —  were  riot- 
ously joyful.  They  played  games  among 
the  trees,  where  the  shadows  were  scarey, 
and  out  in  the  open,  where  the  moon  shone. 
Silly  games  they  were,  like  tag  and  blind 
man's  buff.  The  players  wanted  to  be 
silly.  They  were  so  happy,  just  to  be 
young  and  at  Vassar  in  the  spring.  Groups 
of  twos  and  threes  were  wandering  about 
or  curled  up  in  corners  of  the  buildings. 
Half  the  Senior  class  were  singing  on  Strong 
steps.  Their  voices  sounded  sweet.  Some- 
body in  Raymond  was  calling  to  some  one 
in  Strong,  with  intent  to  be  heard,  too. 


HER  POSITION  95 

Even  that  sounded  pleasant  and  friendly 
and  a  good  part  of  college,  softened  as  all 
was  by  the  May  night. 

Barbara  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  one  of 
those  doors  where  no  one  ever  comes  out, 
in  the  angle  of  the  wings.  She  wanted  the 
night,  but  she  didn't  want  the  girls.  Some 
did  come  out  that  time.  The  girl  almost 
fell  over  Barbara. 

"  Arna ! "  she  cried.  Then  in  almost 
the  words  of  three  years  ago,  "  I  cheated 
to-day." 

"  I  saw  you." 

"  Don't  you  despise  me  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  have  such  a  right  to ! "  Arna 
laughed  lightly,  but  bitterly. 

"  Sit  down,  Barbara,"  she  pushed  her 
back  on  the  seat,  "  and  listen  to  me. 
You  are  sick  from  your  work  and  your  — 
well,  yourself.  You  went  into  class  as  hon- 
est—  as  —  as — that  sky."  A  clear  blue 
space  stretched  above  their  heads.  "You 
knew  that  test  absolutely.  I  haven't  been  in 
your  class  for  nothing.  A  month  from  now 
you'll  be  able  to  read  that  off  like  a  shot. 


96  VASSAR  STORIES 

You're  worn  out  now  and  weak-willed  and 
beside  yourself.  Before  you  thought  — 
why,  you  couldn't  think,  you  hadn't  any 
mind  left  —  you  copied  from  me.  It  was 
cheating,  one  way,  but  it  wasn't  in  another. 
You've  slaved  four  years,  and  you  were  so 
honest  you  wouldn't  let  any  one  give  you 
ordinary  help  even.  I  know  one  dishonest 
act  doesn't  make  a  girl  a  liar,  it's  doing  it 
again  and  again  that " —  She  stopped. 
Both  girls  looked  up  at  the  sky.  They 
could  not  face  one  another  yet. 

"  Bab,"  the  old  name  brought  tears  to  the 
other's  eyes.  "  I  was  a  cheat.  Oh,  not 
when  you  saw  me,  I  don't  mean,  that  was 
the  least  of  my  lies.  I  never  studied.  I 
didn't  know  anything  that  Freshman  year. 
I  wasn't  out  and  out  and  square  about  it 
like  Betty  Blake  and  Sally  Dean.  I  didn't 
say,  c  I  don't  care  about  your  old  books.  I 
came  for  fun.'  I  wanted  to  be  considered 
a  great  scholar  and  a  genius.  I  couldn't 
bear  to  have  the  girls  think  me  just  like 
every  one  else  who  had  to  grind  over 
Hygiene  and  Freshman  English,  or  flunk. 


HER  POSITION  97 

I  planned  to  cheat  all  the  semester.  When 
the  time  came,  I  did  it  as  coolly  as  you  eat 
your  breakfasts.  I  told  myself,  'You're 
a  cheat/  but  I  didn't  mind  it  any  more  than 
I  minded  saying,  f  You're  young.'  I  never 
had  thought  of  right  or  wrong,  honor  or 
dishonor,  just  of  fun,  nothing  else,  and  I 
suppose  I  wasn't  born  with  c  an  intuitive 
moral  sense.' 

<c  Do  you  remember  how  I  cried  when  you 
found  out?  I  felt  awfully  to  have  you 
know,  for  I  wanted  your  good  opinion,  but 
I  didn't  care  a  rye  straw  for  my  own  disgrace. 
After  a  bit,  when  I  found  you  weren't  going 
to  tell,  I  didn't  mind  you,  you  were  as  nice 
as  ever  to  me." 

Arna  was  silent  a  minute.  When  she 
spoke  again,  it  was  in  a  low  voice  that  Bar- 
bara had  never  heard  from  her  before. 

"  When  you  told,  I  was  wild  against  you, 
but  I  never  dreamed  the  girls  would  cut  me. 
I  was  such  a  fool  in  those  days.  I  didn't  be- 
lieve love  of  truth  and  a  high  standard  of 
honor  could  win  against  me.  I  thought  I 
held  the  girls  so  fast  they  couldn't  get  away. 


98  VASSAR  STORIES 

I  didn't  think  there  were  so  many  high- 
minded  girls  here.  I  measured  every  one  by 
myself.  I  had  no  real  character,  just  charm 
and  a  happy  nature. 

"  Look  at  me,  Bab.  Am  I  the  same  ?  " 
She  bent  over  Barbara  till  her  face  almost 
touched  hers.  Even  in  the  shadowy  light 
Barbara  could  see  the  change  wrought  by 
the  three  years,  the  girl  made  into  a  woman. 
"When  I  saw  they  were  in  earnest,  I  ran 
away,  home.  I  never  meant  to  come  back. 
I  remembered  my  family,  they  would  learn 
it  somehow.  I  determined  to  come  back 
and  brave  it  out.  I  would  act  just  as  happy 
as  ever.  Haven't  I  done  it?  You  thought 
I  was  wooden,  didn't  you  ?  You  wouldn't 
believe  I  could  have  such  pride,  such  self- 
control.  I  can  do  anything  I  try.  That 
sounds  young.  It's  true,  just  the  same. 
Did  you  ever  live  three  days  all  alone, 
with  no  one  to  even  look  at  you,  not  away 
off  like  a  hunter  in  the  woods,  but  with  peo- 
ple who  despised  you  all  around?  Some- 
body says  a  great  crowd  is  a  great  wilder- 
ness. I  lived  in  the  wilderness  three  years, 


HER  POSITION  99 

and  —  and  —  God  only  knows  how  lonely  I 
have  been  ! 

"At  first  I  hated  the  girls.  After  a  while 
I  began  to  think.  Oh,  you  can  do  a  mighty 
lot  of  thinking  in  three  years  !  I  grew  to 
hate  myself.  In  those  Freshman  days  I  was 
the  most  hideous  creature  on  earth,  one  who 
hadn't  a  thought  for  any  one  but  herself,  and 
that  the  lower  side,  too, —  her  fun,  her  position, 
her  importance,  her  pleasure.  I  cared  for 
those  so  much  I  dragged  myself  through  the 
mud  to  save  them.  What  difference  was 
there  between  me  and  a  man  who  follows  his 
passion  ?  I  didn't  happen  to  want  to  drink 
or  gamble.  If  I  had,  I  would.  You  think 
I'm  morbid.  Do  I  look  like  that?  My 
cheating  was  just  one  way  my  awful  self- 
ishness expressed  itself.  What  did  I  care 
about  honor,  or  Vassar's  standards,  or  any- 
thing, as  long  as  my  reputation  for  bright- 
ness was  safe,  my  power  over  the  girls  un- 
shaken? I  was  one  of  those  c  feeble  souls  ' 
Emerson  describes,  who  wants  to  be  loved, 
but  don't  care  about  being  lovely.  I 
wanted  praise,  and  influence,  and  friendship 


ioo  VASSAR  STORIES 

that  I  hadn't  earned,  that  just  came  to  me 
because  I  had  certain  ways  of  speaking  and 
looking,  not  because  I  was  really  fine. 

"  But  now  —  I  —  want  to  be  lovely.  I 
reckon  I'm  what  my  old  mammy  used  to 
call  'converted  to  'ligion.'  Some  of  the 
girls  think  my  punishment  was  too  great. 
Maybe  it  was  for  those  three  acts,  not  for 
my  life." 

"  You  needn't  bring  any  punishment  on 
me,"  said  Barbara  sternly.  "  I'll  be  my  own 
hangman.  I'm  going  to  tell  every  one  my- 
self." 

Arna  started  as  if  roused  out  of  sleep. 

"What  did  you  say?  Oh  — yes.  Til 
never  tell.  You  mustn't,  either.  Your 
punishment  is  not  to  tell.  If  you  do, 
you'll  take  away  the  sting  of  your  fault. 
People  will  think  you  have  expiated  it ;  and 
you'll  think  so,  too,  and  you'll  feel  soothed, 
and  —  and  —  you  must  keep  it  a  secret 
always." 

"  I  can't !     I  hate  myself  for  it." 

"  That's  morbid.  One  fault  doesn't  break 
us  any  more  than  one  virtue  makes  us.  A 


HER  POSITION  ioi 

fault  ought  never  to  be  confessed*  unless  it's 
going  to  do  some  good.  Otherwise  it's  only 
a  weak  effort  to  hush  up  our  conscience. 
Don't  you  see  how  much  greater  punishment 
it  is  for  you  to  keep  still  ?  " 

"  But  my  influence,  my  rank  !  " 

"  Who  saw,  except  me  ?  You'll  pass 
without  that  paper.  Promise  me  you  won't 
tell.  Promise !  Think  about  your  family. 
Promise ! " 

Barbara,  never  able  to  refuse  Arna,  nodded. 
She  held  Arna's  hand  hard. 

"  Arna,"  timidly,  "  you  said  you  hated  the 
girls.  I  ruined  your  life  here,  but  I  meant 
to  do  right.  Did  you  hate  me  ?  " 

c<  Once.  After  that  my  pride  wouldn't 
let  me  look  at  you  again.  When  you  spoke 
to  me  to-day,  I  couldn't  stop  to  talk,  the  first 
time  after  three  years.  But  now —  Oh, 
Bab,  I'm  a  c feeble  soul'  still.  I'm  not 
lovely,  but  I  want  to  be  loved  —  by  you." 

"  Won't  you  answer  one  question  for 
me?"  said  Barbara,  raising  her  head  from 
Arna's  lap,  where  it  had  been  resting  since 
they  finished  talking.  "  Did  I  do  right  to  tell 


102  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  .gins  ?,, ,  Yon- would  have  grown  thought- 
ful and  sincere  yourself,  I  know,  without 
such  c  a  refiner's  fire/  You  were  so  young 
then." 

The  bell  sounded  within  the  building. 
Arna  stood  up.  Her  face  was  hidden  in 
the  shadow. 

"We  are  friends  again,  that's  all  that 
really  matters  now,"  she  said. 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION 


A  Sense  of  Obligation 

EICRETIA  FOLGER  was  brought 
up  in  one  of  those  stranded  New  Eng- 
land villages, cc  left  by  the  stream  whose  waves 
are  years,"  which,  robbed  of  its  patriarchs  by 
death,  its  young  men  by  the  city,  grow  ever 
feebler  and  weaker.  Without  enterprise,  am- 
bition, or  interest  in  itself  even,  the  village 
was  like  some  once  fresh  stream  become 
now,  its  outlet  dammed,  a  stagnant  pond. 
An  artist  may  think  the  pond  peaceful  and 
picturesque,  a  scientist  knows  it  is  deadly. 

Lucretia's  family  —  her  clan  made  up  half 
the  village  —  were  virtuous,  ignorant,  and 
dull.  Lucretia,  defying  the  laws  of  heredity 
and  environment,  was  sensitive,  poetical,  "  a 
scorner  of  the  ground,"  an  idealist.  The 
villagers  called  her  "  a  kind  of  genius,"  with 
a  cold  contempt  in  the  word  "  genius."  Her 
family  scolded,  jeered,  and  reasoned  till  she 
despised  her  ideals  as  "  fools*  notions  "  and 
105 


io6  VASSAR  STORIES 

her  nature  as  "unbalanced."  If  she  had 
been  the  genius  the  village  called  her,  she 
probably  would  have  paid  it  back  its  con- 
tempt threefold  and  lived  her  own  life.  But 
she  was  not.  She  was  only  a  young  girl 
who  loved  passionately  all  good  and  beauti- 
ful things.  Because  she  knew  no  one  else 
in  the  whole  world  like  herself,  she  believed 
she  was  wrong,  and  struggled  ceaselessly 
against  her  own  nature.  She  fought  back 
the  shiver  of  protest  that  moved  her  when 
she  saw  a  new  evidence  of  the  village  alle- 
giance to  its  favorite  text,  "Is  not  the  life 
less  than  meat  ?  "  She  longed  to  be  prosaic, 
practical,  sordid,  which  she  termed  "not 
being  queer." 

When  she  was  twenty,  two  events  changed 
her  life.  Her  grandfather  died,  leaving  her 
"  considerable  property,"  and  Miss  Rockwell 
came. 

Miss  Rockwell  was  a  graduate  of  the 
early  Vassar  when  it  was  a  Female  College. 
Her  sense  of  her  responsibility  towards  "  the 
higher  education  of  women  "  filled  her  with 
a  rather  awesome  zeal.  She  claimed  Lu- 


The  Library 


The  Lodge 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   107 

cretia  with  the  rallying  cry,  "  You  need 
Vassar,  and  Vassar  needs  you." 

Lucretia  offered  no  resistance.  That  of 
her  family  was  conquered  by  the  argument 
that  a  college  education  was  an  investment 
of  her  money  which  would  yield  a  good 
interest  in  the  shape  of  a  salary  as  a  teacher. 

What  can  express  that  which  Vassar  was 
to  her  ?  Land  to  the  shipwrecked  sailor  P 
Water  to  the  desert  traveller  ?  These  know 
the  bitterness  of  her  deprivation,  but  not  its 
years  of  endurance.  Vassar  gave  her  books, 
instruction,  inspiration.  Its  great  gift  was 
respect  for  herself,  the  assurance  that  she 
had  a  right  to  her  individuality,  though  it 
differed  from  that  of  every  other  human 
being.  It  showed  her  no  new  great  vision 
of  truth  or  beauty.  The  little  farm  garden 
had  been  to  this  "  dreamer  of  dreams  "  an 
"  isle  called  Patmos."  It  did  prove  to  her 
that  hers  were  such  indeed,  and  no  will-o'- 
the-wisps,  and  that  there  is  no  worker  so 
great  as  he  who  is  "  a  holder  up  of -visions." 

In  return  Lucretia  loved  Vassar  idola- 
trously.  She  thought  it  perfect,  and  listened 


io8  VASSAR  STORIES 

with  real  distress  to  the  denunciations  of  every- 
body from  President  to  elevator  boy,  with 
which  the  most  loyal  Vassarites  then,  as  now, 
were  wont  to  cheer  themselves.  She  rushed 
into  battle  with  these  same  revilers,  changed 
to  offensive  partisans,  to  repel  all  outside 
critics.  She  absorbed  all  that  Vassar  could 
offer,  in  work  and  in  fun.  She  did  every- 
thing that  one  mortal,  hampered  by  time 
and  space,  could.  Her  little  body  was  ex- 
hausted often,  but  her  spirit  never  flagged. 
Some  of  the  professors  said  her  steady, 
eager  gaze  in  a  lecture  hypnotized  them. 
She  even  spent  her  vacations  at  Vassar,  that 
she  might  not  miss  one  experience  of  Col- 
lege, not  even  that  of  the  bare,  lonesome 
corridors  and  deserted  campus. 

Out  of  her  devotion  to  College  grew  a 
longing  to  have  its  influence  felt  everywhere. 
Vassar  was  a  true  miracle-worker.  It  must 
go,  like  the  mountain  to  Mahomet,  to  those 
who,  by  reason  of  age  or  sex,  could  not  come 
to  it.  She  weighed  earnestly  the  needs  of 
different  charities  and  schools.  Where  would 
Vassar  do  the  most  good? 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   109 

Commencement  found  her  still  undecided. 
Then  came  a  letter  from  her  mother.  She 
and  Lucretia's  step-father  had  been  "  roller- 
stoning  it,"  as  their  former  neighbors  said, 
all  over  the  West  for  several  years.  Now 
they  were  settled  in  a  small  town  near  the 
Rockies.  The  mother  was  lonely  and  feeble ; 
Lucretia  was  her  only  unmarried  child ;  the 
town  wished  a  school-teacher ;  Lucretia's 
money  was  used  up.  The  deduction  from 
these  facts  seemed  clear  to  the  mother.  So 
it  did  to  the  daughter.  At  the  end  of  the 
week  she  went  West. 

Lucretia's  Western  home  was  the  likeness 
of  her  Eastern  one,  with  the  difference  that 
the  one  was  a  stranded  farm  village,  once 
dwelt  in  by  honest  farmers,  and  the  other 
was  a  stranded  mining-camp,  whose  first 
settlers  had  been  lawless  miners.  The  miners 
had  gone ;  with  them  the  violence  and  crime 
of  the  early  days,  with  them  also  the  spirit 
and  energy  of  the  town.  Only  poor  whites 
and  half-breeds  remained,  a  lazy,  shiftless 
crew,  who  just  kept  alive  the  sick  town  which 
could  neither  die  nor  get  well. 


no  VASSAR  STORIES 

It  was,  however,  a  civilized,  Christian  com- 
munity, with  a  church  and  .a  school.  The 
world  was  too  busy  with  missions  on  the 
Congo,  seminaries  in  Alaska,  and  settlements 
in  Boston  to  give  it  a  thought.  If  the 
people  had  been  picturesque,  the  work  dan- 
gerous, or  the  sympathy  of  fellow-workers 
present,  Lucretia  would  have  found  some 
inspiration.  As  it  was,  she  saw  that  Vassar 
must  work  alone.  She  never  doubted  the 
result.  College  was  a  vast  power-house,  she 
was  the  connecting  wire  between  it  and  the 
forsaken  town. 

The  years  that  followed  her  graduation 
were  spent  by  Lucretia  in  giving  out  Vassar 
with  the  same  unflagging  energy  as  she  had 
absorbed  it.  She  was  Board  of  Education, 
Library  Association,  Sunday  School  Com- 
mittee, Neighborhood  Guild,  Charity  Or- 
ganization, Hospital,  and  Orphan  Asylum. 
She  wrote  her  friends,  "  It  is  a  hard  life,  but 
a  happy  one."  She  may  have  been  right 
about  the  happiness,  yet  her  old  quick- 
coming  smile  had  something  mechanical  in 
it  now,  and  her  eyes  were  always  full  of 
shadows. 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   in 

At  first  Vassar  was  only  a  brake  on  the 
steady,  if  gradual,  downhill  course  of  the 
town.  Then  the  town  stood  still,  and  then 
—  oh,  how  long  to  the  then !  - —  it  began  to 
mount  up.  The  improvement  was  pitiably 
small.  An  outsider  would  have  seen  no 
change  in  the  town  of  that  day  and  of  the 
long  ago  June  when  Lucretia  came.  But 
Lucretia  saw,  and  thanked  God  and  Vassar 
College. 

About  this  time  she  began  to  save  money 
for  her  class  reunion.  She  had  missed  the 
two  years  and  the  five  years  ones,  for  she  had 
neither  money  nor  time  to  spare,  but  this 
tenth  she  must  attend.  She  needed  the 
encouragement  of  Vassar  itself,  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  class  accomplishing  good  results 
in  various  kinds  of  work.  Most  of  all  she 
wanted  to  see  the  dear  girls  again,  and  laugh 
and  talk  and  forget  she  was  a  wire  or  a  mes- 
senger or  anything  but  just  Lucretia  Folger, 
Vassar,  '8— . 

The  first  day  of  school  that  year  she 
noticed  a  big  young  fellow  seated  by  the 
door,  who  looked  rough,  but  gave  no  trouble. 


ii2  VASSAR  STORIES 

Once,  when  his  cool  gray  eyes  met  her  soft 
brown  ones,  a  flash  of  sympathy  passed  be- 
tween them.  Later  she  found  that  he  was 
Jean  Lloyd  from  the  hill  camp,  and  that  he 
had  been  at  school  more  than  most  of  the 
town  boys.  Lucretia  liked  him  at  once. 
He  was  both  manly  and  gentle,  in  spite  of 
his  apparent  roughness.  He  was  clever,  too, 
when  he  could  be  stirred  out  of  his  usual 
laziness. 

Jean,  for  his  part,  adored  his  little  teacher, 
as  a  boy  often  does  a  woman  twice  his  age. 
She  was  brighter,  prettier,  and  more  refined 
than  any  one  he  had  ever  met  in  his  knocked- 
about  life. 

As  he  was  not  a  fit  for  any  of  the  dozen 
classes  crowded  into  the  school  day,  Lucretia 
gave  him  special  courses  before  and  after 
the  session.  To  do  this,  she  had  to  lengthen 
her  day  and  shorten  her  night  an  hour  each. 
"  I  can  sleep  any  time,"  she  said, "  but  it's 
not  often  I  get  such  a  boy  to  teach."  It 
was  uphill  work  teaching  him,  for  most  of 
the  time  he  did  not  want  to  learn.  She 
taxed  Vassar  to  the  fullest  for  incentives.  If 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   113 

she  could  only  win  this  boy,  it  would  be  the 
seal  of  Vassar's  rule  in  that  far  country.  So 
she  cheered,  scolded,  persuaded,  reasoned, 
implored,  till  the  boy  caught  some  of  her 
fire  and  began  to  work  in  a  steady,  grinding 
way  sure  to  accomplish  results.  One  after- 
noon the  two  were  walking  in  the  woods 
together,  as  they  often  did. 

"My  folks  came  from  New  England, 
too,"  Jean  said  suddenly.  Conversation  was 
always  irregular  between  them. 

"  How  did  you  get  out  here  ? " 

"  Father  had  the  mining  fever,  so  he 
came,  mother  came  because  he  did,  and  we 
kids  because  we  had  to.  Father  died,  and 
mother  never  had  money  to  get  back  East. 
We  kept  on  here  after  she  died  because  we 
hadn't  any  other  home.  My  father  was 
educated.  He  was  a  Yale  graduate,"  shyly. 

"  I  knew  it,"  cried  Lucretia,  "  that's  where 
you  inherit  your  good  mind." 

"  Oh,  mother  was  smart,  too,  though  she 
wasn't  educated  like  he  was." 

"  You're  going  to  college  yourself,"  went 
on  Lucretia  excitedly.  "It  will  be  wicked  if 


ii4  VASSAR  STORIES 

you  stagnate  like  the  men  here."  She  had 
longed  for  the  chance  to  talk  to  him  about 
an  education,  now  it  had  come. 

"Easy  talking/'  answered  the  boy  with 
his  slow  smile.  "  I  don't  know  enough  to 
get  in.  If  I  did,  where'd  the  money  come 
from  ?  " 

cc  Work  your  way  through,  dozens  of  girls 
do  it  at  Vassar,  and  it's  far  harder  for  a  girl 
than  for  a  man.  I'll  prepare  you.  You're 
almost  ready  now." 

"You're  real  kind,  but  I  don't  know  as  I 
want  to  go." 

They  halted,  facing  one  another.  The 
boy  was  away  above  Lucretia's  head.  She 
stepped  on  a  rock  and  from  this  throne 
poured  out  the  love  and  devotion  of  ten 
years  for  her  College.  She  thought  she 
spoke  for  Yale,  but  it  was  really  for  Vassar. 
When  she  ended,  he  said  coolly  enough, 
but  with  a  spark  in  his  eyes, — 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to  go  yet ;  but,  if 
you  say  I  must,  I  reckon  it's  settled." 

Lucretia  worked  that  year  as  never  before. 
The  boy,  thoroughly  aroused,  drained  her 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   115 

knowledge  dry  at  every  lesson.  Sometimes 
she  feared  he  would  break  down,  for  he 
worked  in  the  camp  out  of  school  hours. 
It  was  she  herself  who  was  nearest  the  worn- 
out  place.  The  school-house  seemed  a  prison 
within  whose  walls  she  trod  a  weary  tread- 
mill. Every  morning  she  dragged  herself 
out  of  bed,  wavered,  whispered,  "  Good  for 
another  day,"  and  crept  downstairs. 

June  was  coming  !  June  with  College  and 
the  girls !  The  thought  quickened  her 
weary  feet  and  brightened  her  heavy  eyes. 
She  slept  with  her  bank-book  under  her 
pillow.  In  it  was  the  record  of  ten  years' 
saving  pinched  away  from  all  luxuries  and 
many  comforts.  It  was  her  guarantee  of 
coming  happiness :  she  liked  to  feel  it  in  the 
long,  restless  nights. 

Spring  had  reached  May,  cold  and  damp 
in  that  part  of  the  world.  Lucretia  had 
given  her  pupils  a  holiday  in  honor  of  some 
local  god.  Jean,  however,  had  come  as 
usual.  Her  head  felt  thick  and  hot.  Should 
she  tell  him  she  could  not  teach  to-day  ? 
She  was  conscious,  without  raising  her  eyes, 
that  he  stood  before  her  speaking. 


n6  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  I'm  awful  sorry.  You'll  be  disappointed. 
I'm  not  going  to  college." 

"What?" 

"  I've  given  up  college.  It's  not  the  get- 
ting in.  I  guess  I  know  enough  for  that. 
It's  the  money.  I  haven't  enough  for  my 
fare  East,  even.  After  I  get  in,  I'd  have  to 
work  like  a  horse  just  to  keep  alive.  A 
man  here's  offered  me  a  job  with  good  wages 
and  a  chance  to  get  more.  If  I  had  fifty 
dollars,  even,  I'd  stick  to  college,  for  I've 
got  the  notion.  But  my  spunk's  all  given 
out.  I  haven't  the  grit  to  go  and  starve, 
and  that's  about  what  it  comes  to.  There's 
no  use  talking  to  me,"  —  for  Lucretia  had 
moved  a  little, — "  my  mind's  set.  You 
can't  change  it."  The  words  came  in 
thumps. 

Lucretia  stared  stupidly  at  him.  In  a 
minute  he  went  out.  Very  slowly  all  he 
had  said  reached  her  brain.  If  she  could 
only  get  money  for  him  !  Why  she  had 
it  herself! 

Her  head  resting  in  her  hands,  her  arms 
propped  on  the  table,  she  struggled  witli  the 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   117 

problem.  Which  was  the  right, —  to  go  to 
the  reunion ;  to  draw  in  strength,  courage, 
inspiration,  to  give  out  again  to  the  feeble, 
needy  town,  which  had  no  other  helper,  or 
to  give  this  boy  a  chance  to  be  the  man  he 
was  meant  to  be  ?  The  need  of  the  town 
was  sore,  surely.  The  boy  had  a  splendid 
strength  within  him  if  it  could  once  be 
quickened  to  life. 

Her  own  vacation,  the  sight  of  the  old 
loved  friends,  the  visit  to  her  adored  College, 
for  which  she  had  saved  and  yearned  ever 
since  the  blue  line  of  the  Catskills  faded 
from  her  eyes,  never  occurred  to  her  at 
all.  There  are  some  people  who  have  elim- 
inated the  personal  equation  from  their  prob- 
lems. 

She  sat  still  a  long  time.  Perhaps  the 
clergyman  in  the  shabby  church  across  the 
road  would  have  been  shocked  to  know  she 
was  invoking  Vassar  College  as  if  praying 
to  it. 

"  I  see  my  duty,"  she  said  at  length,  as 
firmly  as  a  general  giving  a  command. 
"  The  good  to  the  boy  is  certain  and  great : 


n8  VASSAR  STORIES 

that  to  the  town  is  uncertain  and  may  be 
small.  It  is  now  or  never  for  him.  The 
town  has  other  chances." 

She  stood  up  in  the  relief  of  decision. 
Then  all  that  she  was  giving  up  rushed  into 
her  thoughts.  She  sat  down  on  the  worn 
little  school  platform,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  my 
beautiful  visit !  the  dear  girls ! "  No  tears 
rose  in  her  eyes,  but  her  face  worked  with 
"  a  kind  of  dry  weeping  that  comes  to  the 
miserable." 

With  very  bright  eyes  and  very  white 
cheeks,  Lucretia  hurried  toward  the  camp  to 
find  Jean.  She  was  not  afraid  her  resolve 
would  give  way,  it  had  passed  out  of  her 
control  into  an  accomplished  fact,  but  she 
wanted  the  boy  to  know  the  good  news 
at  once. 

He  was  sawing  wood  alone  behind  the 
camp. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  to  College  now,"  she 
began  without  other  greeting.  "  I  have  the 
money  for  you, —  your  fare  and  a  good  deal 
more." 

"  Where'd  you  get  it  ?  "  bluntly. 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   119 

"  It's  my  own."  Lucretia  was  too  uncon- 
scious of  herself  to  be  diplomatic.  "  I  saved 
it  to  go  to  my  class  reunion  at  Vassar.  I  de- 
cided, after  you  left,  that  it  would  be  far 
more  wisely  used  in  helping  you  through 
college  than  it  —  " 

The  boy  was  not  listening.  He  had 
picked  up  a  log  and  was  sawing  it  steadily. 
His  eyes  were  narrowed  ;  his  face  had  a  brutal 
look.  Lucretia  had  seen  that  expression  be- 
fore, once  when  he  pulled  a  little  girl  out  of 
a  stream  which  dragged  her  sullenly  back, 
and  once  when  he  had  puzzled  weeks  over  a 
mathematical  problem  neither  of  them  could 
solve. 

She  realized,  as  her  heart  grew  cold  at  the 
sight,  how  dear  a  hope  this  boy  had  been. 
The  walls  and  towers  of  Vassar,  so  clear  to 
that  inward  eye  all  these  years,  and  the  voices 
of  the  men  and  women  there  who  had  struck 
the  pitch  of  her  life,  always  sounding  in  her 
ears,  faded  and  died.  She  saw  only  the 
dreary,  ruined  town  and  heard  only  the  ran- 
corous voices  of  the  men  on  the  hill.  She 
was  only  Lucretia  Folger,  who  had  worked 


120  VASSAR  STORIES 

ceaselessly  and  failed.  In  her  face,  as  they 
say  one  sees  for  an  instant,  in  the  face  of  a 
dying  man  just  as  he  dies,  the  strength  and 
fire  of  youth,  was  all  the  devotion,  all  the 
unquenchable  purpose  of  her  life.  The  boy 
turned  towards  her. 

"You're  real  kind,  ma'am,"  he  said  gently, 
though  his  jaw  was  set, "  but  I  reckon  I  ain't 
quite  small  enough  to  travel  East  in  your 
shoes.  I  can't  take  your  money,  but  I'm 
going  on  to  Yale  next  week,  just  the  same, 
and  I'm  going  through  it,  too,  if  I  starve." 

He  jerked  himself  around  the  corner  with- 
out another  word. 

Lucretia  ran  down  the  hill  as  if  the  weari- 
ness of  the  past  was  over  forever.  She  met 
the  old  clergyman,  the  sharer,  in  a  feeble 
way,  of  her  aspirations  for  the  town. 

"  Good  news  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  saw  her 
face. 

"  A  triumph  for  Vassar  !  "  she  cried,  hur- 
rying on. 

The  clergyman  was  a  dull  old  man ;  but, 
as  he  looked  at  the  mean  street,  the  sham- 
bling school-house,  and  the  slatternly  people 


A  SENSE  OF  OBLIGATION   121 

idling  about,  and  then  remembered  the  face 
of   the    little   woman,    faded,    marked    with 
many  a  tired  line,  yet  radiant  from  the  spirit 
within,  he  murmured  to  himself, — 
"  A  triumph  for  Vassar !  " 


NEITHER  A   LENDER  NOR  A 
BORROWER   BE 


Neither  a  Lender  nor  a 
Borrower  be 

"  ~W  F    my   sainted  mother    could    only  see 

I  this  now/'  said  Betty. 

"It  certainly  does  look  grand/'  agreed  her 
room-mate. 

"  And  to  think  what  a  horror  it  was  when 
she  came.  Poor  lamb,  her  eyes  were  dis- 
tended till  they  were  like  saucers  when  she 
beheld  the  dust  under  my  desk  and  the 
unlaved  dishes  on  the  window-sill.  But  she 
was  so  terrible  scared  for  fear  you  or  Jan 
had  left  them  there,  she  refrained  from  any 
reproach.  Did  you  see  her  expression  when 
you  opened  your  bedroom  ?  " 

"It  didn't  begin  to  be  as  bad  as  yours, 
thank  you." 

"  I    had    the    wit    to    keep    mine    closed. 

Well,  anyhow.  Aunt  Laura  and  her  friend 

will  see  mother  to-night.     They'll    tell  her 

how  beautiful    everything  was.      Will    you 

125 


126  VASSAR  STORIES 

assist  me  at  my  afternoon  tea  P  Aunt  Laura 
is  sort  o'  awesome  to  play  with  long  alone/* 

"  How  often  have  I  got  to  tell  you  that 
I  tutor  this  hour?  I'd  rather  meet  a  whole 
family  tree  of  aunts  than  teach  my  Stoopid 
one  Greek  lesson ;  but  money  must  be 
obtained  if  I  don't  intend  to  be  a  thing 
of  c  shreds  and  patches '  all  winter." 

The  speaker,  a  small  girl  who  always  wore 
her  hair  in  a  pagoda  on  the  top  of  her  head 
and  her  head  in  the  air  to  increase  her 
height,  gathered  up  her  books  and  went  out, 
calling  back  from  the  corridor,  "If  you 
don't  stop  gaping  at  that  magnificence, 
you'll  miss  your  train." 

Still  Betty  lingered,  enjoying  the  un- 
wonted sight  of  her  parlor  swept,  garnished, 
and  in  order.  It  was  a  charming  room, 
with  a  spirit  of  its  own.  None  of  the  silly 
souvenirs  common  to  some  college  rooms 
cluttered  it  up.  Equally  refreshing  was  the 
absence  of  plaster  lions,  Bodenhausen  Ma- 
donnas, and  reproductions  of  Gibson's  draw- 
ings. The  decorations,  curtains,  and  rugs 
all  harmonized  into  one  pleasant,  soothing 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  127 

color  plan,  the  furniture  was  carved  oak,  old 
and  interesting,  the  couch  was  covered  with 
huge  satisfying  pillows,  on  the  walls  hung 
delicate  water  colors  and  Copley  prints. 
The  books,  too,  the  final  test  of  a  room, 
were  not  the  usual  Emertons,  Sellars,  and 
Adamses,  but  Stevensons,  Balzacs,  Thack- 
erays,  and  their  fellows.  A  deep  bowl  on 
the  table  filled  with  daffodils  made  a  little 
spring  in  the  November  day.  A  table  with 
a  tea-kettle,  a  plate  of  thin,  crispy  lettuce 
sandwiches,  and  dishes  of  bonbons  showed 
that  the  guests  were  not  to  "  feast  deep  on 
lovely  sights  "  only. 

" c  A  man  can  mar  a  home,  but  only  a 
woman  can  make  it,'  "  murmured  the  owner 
of  the  parlor  with  an  amused  remembrance 
of  a  visit  she  and  her  mother  had  made  that 
fall  to  her  Freshman  brother  at  Yale,  to  help 
him  settle. 

"  Do  something  to  these  things,  won't 
you  ?  "  he  had  implored,  with  a  helpless  wave 
towards  the  chairs,  tables,  and  pictures, 
which  had  fallen  into  Anglo-Saxon  attitudes 
at  measured  intervals  about  the  room.  "It 


128  VASSAR  STORIES 

looks  like  a  combination  of  church,  furni- 
ture store,  and  country  hotel  now." 

"  My  aunt  and  a  somebody  with  her  are 
going  to  visit  me  an  hour  on  their  way 
from  Albany  to  New  York,"  she  called  over 
the  transom  of  the  other  half  of  the  alley- 
way. "  You're  not  to  go  in  my  beauty  room 
and  muss  it  up.  After  they've  gone,  we'll 
eat  all  the  food  they  leave.  Do  you  hear? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  came  in  a  drowsy  voice  from 
within. 

"  We  are  very  fond  of  our  room,"  said 
Betty  in  her  best  company  voice  an  hour 
later  as  she  led  her  guests  down  the  corri- 
dor. "Three  of  us  —  "  she  stopped. 

A  desolation  lay  before  her  such  as  some 
army  of  furniture-devouring  locusts  might 
have  left  behind  them.  Curtains,  rugs, 
chairs,  couch,  table,  pictures, —  all  were 
gone.  Even  the  bowl  that  held  the  flowers 
was  not.  The  daffodils  hung  their  mortified 
heads  over  the  edge  of  a  milk-pitcher. 
Only  the  tea-table  and  the  desks  remained. 
Worse  even  than  the  nakedness  of  the  land 
was  it  that  boxes,  bundles  of  newspapers, 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  129 

portions  of  girls'  wardrobes,  and  a  heap  of 
shoes  lay  scattered  about  the  floor. 

For  a  minute  Betty  stood  perfectly  still. 
What  her  family  tenderly  called  "  a  nervous 
attack  "  had  seized  her.  Then  she  laughed. 
What  was  the  use  in  getting  in  a  rage,  any- 
how ? 

"  Some  enemy  hath  done  this,"  she  cried, 
between  spurts  of  laughter.  "  Sit  down, 
won't  you  ?  Oh,  you  can't."  She  brought 
chairs  from  the  bedrooms.  Such  as  were 
not  weak  in  important  members  were  of  an 
institutional  hardness. 

Cf  Emily  Fullham  !  Nancy  !  Come  meet 
my  aunt !  "  she  called. 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  as  of  an  invol- 
untary leap  towards  flight,  but  in  an  instant 
two  girls  entered  with  polite  greetings. 

"  Little  Em'ly,  what  galoot  has  been  at 
this  room  ?  "  demanded  Betty,  then  blushed 
fiery  red  as  she  thought,  "Aunt  Laura'll 
think  I'm  a  choice  bit  if  I  let  fall  any  more 
such  conversational  pearls  as  that !  " 

"  Why,  Betty,  May  Merchant  and  Anna- 
bel Steen  came  while  you  were-  out,  and 


ijo  VASSAR  STORIES 

took  away  your  things.  They  said  Janet 
told  them  they  might  have  whatever  they 
wanted.  They  dumped  everything  out  of 
the  couch  and  the  drawers,  that's  where 
those  things  came  from." 

"  And  she  knew  I  was  to  have  guests !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  you  couldn't  expect  her  to  re- 
member little  things  like  that  to-day  when 
she  can't  on  just  ordinary  occasions." 

"This  is  Phil.  Day,  Aunt  Laura.  We 
have  a  great  reception  to-night,  much  gowns 
and  a  number  of  young  gents  —  gentlemen 
—  to  see  how  we  look  in  them.  My  room- 
mate is  chairman  of  the  committee.  She's 
responsible  for  the  whole  thing,  she  and  the 
president  of  Phil." 

"Are  these  raids  on  one  another  of  fre- 
quent occurrence?"  asked  the  guest  who 
wasn't  Aunt  Laura. 

"When  there's  a  Hall  Play  on,  or  a 
chapter  one,  or  anything  like  this,  the  girls 
swoop  down  on  you  for  every  last  stick  you 
own.  Other  times  we  just  borrow  soap  and 
hats  and  note-books  and  Gym.  suits  and 
money,  and  things  like  that." 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  131 

"  But  among  so  many  do  not  losses 
occur?" 

"  Oh,  you  never  get  anything  back  unless 
you  go  for  it,  and  not  always  then,"  an- 
swered Betty. 

"My  beautiful  bandanna  pillow!"  said 
Emily,  with  a  doleful  laugh. 

"  My  two  pairs  of  evening  gloves!"  said 
the  other  girl. 

"  My  Japanese  screen,  my  bust  of  Dante, 
my  blue  sash,  my —  Oh,  many  and  many 
a  my  !  But  the  worst  borrow  and  keep  I 
know  was  Miss  Belton's  silhouette. 

"  We  had  a  regularly  gorgeous  Trig.  Cere- 
monies in  our  class,  Aunt  Laura,  if  I  say  it 
as  shouldn't, —  that's  a  kind  of  play  the 
Sophomores  give  to  celebrate  the  end  of 
mathematics  forever.  One  scene  had  an 
old-fashioned  room  in  it.  We  had  a  spin- 
ning-wheel, an  old  chest,  old  chairs,  and  all 
the  furniture  we  wanted.  But  it  was  hard 
to  find  anything  to  hang  on  the  walls. 
Somebody  discovered  a  huge  silhouette  in 
Miss  Belton's  room,  and  said  it  was  just  the 
thing,  only  she'd  never  lend  it  in  the  world, 


132  VASSAR  STORIES 

because  it  was  a  portrait  of  one  of  the  pro- 
fessors that  she  bought  at  her  first  Senior 
auction.  She  went  to  the  auction  with  her 
Senior  c  crush '  (they  had  such  things  in 
those  days),  and  the  crush  blessed  it,  and 
the  professor  wrote  her  name  on  the  back, 
and  altogether  it  was  a  prize  relic.  I  sought 
her  and  I  besought  her ;  and,  though  she  was 
exceeding  loath,  I  bore  it  away.  I  made 
the  girls  promise  to  watch  it  with  all  their 
eyes.  In  case  of  a  fire  or  an  earthquake  or 
an  assault  by  the  audience,  they  were  to  seize 
that  silhouette  and  bear  it  to  a  place  of 
safety,  though  all  else  should  perish. 

"  After  the  Ceremonies  were  over,  I  was 
so  excited  and  elated  I  never  once  thought 
of  that  professor.  I  wouldn't  have  remem- 
bered my  own  father  if  he'd  been  hanging 
on  the  wall.  Well,  sirs,  when  I  went  over 
to  the  Hall  the  next  morning,  that  precious 
souvenir  was  gone.  I've  never  seen  it  since, 
though  I  offered  rewards  and  sought  it  with 
tears." 

"  Wasn't  Miss  Belton  angry  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I   never  went  near  her 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER   133 

to  explain.  I  didn't  dare.  Do  let  me  give 
you  tea  and  some  sandwiches/'  jerking  her- 
self back  to  the  duties  of  a  hostess. 

"There,  that's  over/'  announced  Betty, 
returning  to  the  room  after  escorting  her 
guests  to  the  cars.  "  The  dear  old  parties 
were  sort  o'  shocked  at  some  things,  me  for 
one,  I  guess ;  but  when  they  left  they  said, 
c  'e  liked  it  all/  or  words  of  similar  import. 
Where  did  all  you  babes  come  from  ? " 
sitting  down  in  the  place  where  the  couch 
should  have  been,  and  looking  around  on 
the  half-dozen  girls  likewise  seated  on  the 
floor. 

"  Molly  and  I  have  been  making  up  Gym. 
cuts,"  "Just  come  home  from  town/'  "  Been 
all  the  afternoon  in  the  library  working  on 
my  constitutional  history." 

"  Betty,"  the  door  was  hurtled  back,  "I've 
got  a  telegram — " 

"  Oh,  Eleanor  !  "  She  was  Betty's  room- 
mate. 

"  From  sister,  telling  me  to  meet  her  and 
father  in  New  York  to-day,  go  to  the  opera 
to-night,  and  bat  around  generally  to-mor- 


i34  VASSAR  STORIES 

row.  Isn't  it  lucky  I  haven't  any  guest  for 
Phil.  ?  Can  I  catch  that  five  train,  do  you 
think  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  hustle.     We'll  all  help." 

"  I'll  have  to  have  that  dress,"  pulling  at 
the  buttons  of  Betty's  gown. 

"  My  lands  !  It's  all  the  garment  I  have  ! 
Everything's  in  the  laundry  or  ripped  up 
except  this  or  my  cpike.'  I'm  going  to 
wear  that  to-night,"  remonstrated  Betty,  be- 
ginning to  slip  out  of  it,  however. 

"  I  haven't  a  cloth  suit  to  my  name  yet, 
and  I  can't  go  to  New  York  in  a  golf  skirt. 
You're  the  only  girl  that's  just  my  size  ! " 

"  Take  it !  take  it !  I  can  be  clothed  in 
a  bath-robe  till  evening." 

"  You  can't  stop  to  brush  your  hair :  it 
looks  passing  queer,  but  people  will  think 
it  a  new  style.  They  say  Vassar  girls  are 
always  six  months  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the 
world,"  went  on  Betty,  rummaging  out  a 
battered  dress-suit  case. 

Emily  counted  the  united  funds  of  the 
two  alley-ways,  to  see  if  their  total  equalled 
the  fare  to  New  York.  Anna  Adams  ran 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  135 

for  an  umbrella.  Molly  Omstead  buttoned 
Eleanor's  boots.  Sally  Dean  dried  the  daf- 
fodil stems  before  pinning  them  into  the 
traveller's  coat.  Eleanor  buttoned,  tied,  and 
clasped  various  bands  and  belts,  giving  direc- 
tions, like  a  general  to  his  staff,  meanwhile. 

"  Sal,  run  down  to  the  laundry,  won't  you, 
dearie,  and  get  me  my  clean  handkerchiefs  ? 
If  you  don't  see  mine,  take  any  one's  that 
are  respectable,  in  the  unmarked  room,  you 
know;  and  just  go  into  the  lost  office 
off  Chapel  coming  back,  and  snatch  a  pair 
of  rubbers  you  think  will  fit  me.  IVe  lost 
mine.  And,  oh,  Betty,  Neil's  got  my  fur 
collar,  ask  her  for  it :  she  has  my  silk  scarf, 
too.  I  don't  know  where  my  gloves  are, 
Em.  Hunt  around  in  the  most  unlikely 
places  you  see,  the  washstand,  and  the  ward- 
robe shelf.  Nan  Adams,  do  stick  a  few  pins 
in  my  hair,  it's  just  about  ready  to  fall  off. 
Goodbye,  you  dear  old  souls,  I  hope  I 
haven't  killed  you.  I'll  bring  you  all  some 
Huyler's." 

"  Well,"  gasped  Betty,  as  Eleanor  disap- 
peared down  the  corridor  with  a  girl  on 


136  VASSAR  STORIES 

either  side  to  carry  her  belongings.  "  I  feel 
a  thought  fatigued  !  This  is  the  day  of  my 
life  to  wash  and  iron  my  hair.  Help  your- 
selves to  food,  dear  friends,  there's  more  in 
the  box  in  Jan's  room,  and  the  tea  is  in  my 
desk,  lowest  drawer."  She  appeared  from 
her  bedroom  in  a  denuded  -  looking  silk 
wrapper. 

"Betty!  what  have  you  done  to  that? 
You  look  like  a  plucked  chicken." 

"  Isn't  it  chaste  ?  I  ripped  all  the  trim- 
ming off  to  put  fresh  on,  then  I  never  got 
around  to  it.  Nobody's  in  the  Senior 
Parlor,  I  hope,"  peering  cautiously  out. 
"  I've  got  to  get  hot  water  anyhow,  whether 
guests  have  come  or  no.  Stick  up  c  En- 
gaged/ Nan." 

"  Mustn't  mermaids  be  pretty  dears  ?"  she 
said  when  she  returned,  shaking  wet,  string- 
ing locks  around  her  face.  "  I  wish  those 
committee  girls  had  left  a  few  cushions  for 
the  family.  The  floor  is  uncommon  hard. 
Pab,  please." 

Every  one  ate  and  drank  silently,  basking 
in  the  comfortable  sense  that  to-morrow  was 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  137 

lectureless  Saturday, —  "la  treve  de  Dieu." 
The  door  opened  without  a  knock. 

"  Hi,  Bet,  having  a  ball  ?  "  said  the  new- 
comer, known  to  her  friends  as  the  Japanese 
Cat  from  a  fancied  resemblance  between  her 
and  the  pictures  of  that  domestic  animal 
which  adorn  Celestial  decorations. 

"  I  call  it  plain  actions,  Cat,  to  walk  right 
in  over  c  Engaged/  "  said  the  owner  of  the 
room. 

"  Engaged  nothing  !  If  you  think  there's 
one  up,  you're  mistaken,"  said  the  new-comer, 
beginning  to  eat  the  crumbs  out  of  the  box. 

"  Must  have  blown  down." 

"  I  took  it,"  called  a  voice  over  the  tran- 
som. "  I  wanted  one,  and  I  couldn't  find 
a  scrap  of  paper  in  this  whole  house." 

"  Upon  my  soul !  "  murmured  Betty  : 
"  this  borrowing  custom  has  gone  as  far  as 
I  think  proper.  Oh,  here's  some  one  else. 
Come  in  !  " 

A  very  tall,  very  handsome,  very  well- 
dressed  young  woman  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old. Her  smile  of  greeting  turned  to  one 
of  amused  surprise  as  she  saw  the  disorderly 


138  VASSAR  STORIES 

room,  the  girls  lounging  on  the  floor  or  the 
window-seat  in  Friday  afternoon  attitudes 
and  costumes,  and  the  damp,  Medusa-like 
Betty. 

"  Miss  Clafford,"  murmured  the  Japanese 
Cat.  Betty  said  nothing.  Her  brown  face 
was  really  pale. 

Miss  Clafford  was  a  new  teacher  whose 
manners  and  customs  were  exciting  much 
interest  among  the  girls.  They  admired  her 
deeply,  not  because  she  was  a  Ph.D.  and 
had  written  a  book  which  the  critics  praised, 
nor  because  she  was  a  delightful  woman  of 
the  world,  but  because  she  was  both  in  one. 
Betty  stood  in  great  awe  of  her.  She  had 
ventured  to  call  on  her  once,  in  her  minute, 
artistic  room,  but  she  had  not  yet  found 
courage  to  ask  her  into  her  own  room.  To 
think  she  should  see  it  now  for  the  first 
time !  Betty  could  not  rise  above  that. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  Miss  Blake," 
began  Miss  Clafford,  cc  about  that  little  club 
we  are  thinking  of  forming." 

cc  Club  ?  "  murmured  Betty  dazedly. 

Emily  placed  a  chair  for  the  visitor,  to  the 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  139 

horror  of  the  others,  who  knew  the  infirmity 
of  its  joints.  Miss  ClafFord  began  to  talk 
easily.  Betty  listened  in  abjectness.  She 
could  not  escape  from  her  disorderly  room 
and  her  own  wet,  draggled  appearance. 
Some  one  apologized  for  the  confusion. 
Miss  ClafFord  laughed,  and  said  something 
bright  about  being  in  the  hands  of  one's 
friends  at  such  seasons. 

"  She  thinks  just  a  chair  or  so  and  a 
couple  of  pillows  have  been  taken/'  thought 
Betty  bitterly. 

"  My  friend,  Eleanor  Hale,  lives  here.  I 
want  you  to  see  her  house,"  said  a  girl's 
voice  at  the  door.  A  deep  voice,  belonging 
to  a  man,  answered. 

Some  one  said,  "  Come."  Betty  always 
maintained  it  was  Miss  ClafFord.  In  walked 
a  girl,  her  elegant  mother,  her  dignified  fa- 
ther, her  irreproachable  brother.  The  situ- 
ation was  too  serious  for  any  embarrassment. 
Betty,  her  hair  hastily  bundled  into  a  knob, 
rose,  greeted  her  guests  with  warmth  and 
grace.  Every  one  seconded  her.  The  fam- 
ily party  went  on  its  way,  taking  Miss  Claf- 


140  VASSAR  STORIES 

ford  with  it,  filled  with  amused  appreciation 
for  a  roomful  of  entertaining  girls. 

"  Hang  out  a  small-pox  flag,  quick ! " 
cried  Betty.  "If  I  experience  any  more 
such  raids,  either  to  borrow  or  to  view  me, 
I  shall  have  N.  P.  immediately/'  Betty 
maintained  that  nervous  prostration  was  such 
an  every-day  affair  lately  that  it  took  entirely 
too  long  to  say  it  the  number  of  times  nec- 
essary. 

"  We  must  come  in,  Bet,"  called  a  voice. 

"There's  no  one  here  for  you  to  see," 
called  back  Betty.  "  Miss  Blake  is  dead 
and  buried,  her  executors  are  now  listening 
to  her  last  will  and  testament." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  here  ? " 
asked  one  of  the  two  girls  as  she  walked  in. 
"  Going  home  before  the  Mid-years  ?  " 

"If  you  have  come  to  borrow,  you  may 
have  the  carpet  or  myself,  there  is  naught 
else  here." 

"  That's  just  what  I  want  —  you,  honey," 
said  one  of  the  girls,  a  pretty  blonde  no 
larger  than  Betty. 

"Me?  Just  as  I  am  without  one  —  dry 
hair  P " 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  141 

"  John's  coming  to  Phil. !  " 

"  Oh,  Carolyn,  how  good  !" 

"Oh,  but  there  are  horrid  complications  !" 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  Nothing  connected 
with  John  can  be  horrid." 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  is  coming,  too." 

"Who's  he?  Oh,  I  see.  You  want  to 
devote  all  your  time  to  John,  and  so  you 
want  me,  even  little  me,  to  entertain  this 
Mr.  What's-his-name." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  me." 

"  I  to  be  you  ?  Have  you  had  a  touch 
by  sun,  dear?" 

"You  know  John  is  so — so — sort  of — " 

"Yes,  1  know,  don't  stop  to  explain  his 
character." 

"  He  wouldn't  like  it  if  any  other  man  was 
here  when  he  was,  especially  after  he'd  come 
hundreds  of  miles  and  had  only  the  one 
night  —  " 

"  I'll  take  the  other  man  away  the  minute 
he  strikes  the  front  hall,  and  you  shan't  see 
him  again  till  the  Glee  Club  sings  c  Good- 
night.' " 

"  I  mustn't  see  him  at  all.      He  and  John 


i4a  VASSAR  STORIES 

are  the  deadliest  enemies  !  I  found  it  out 
when  I  began  to  tell  him  about  Helen's 
Western  trip.  As  soon  as  I  mentioned  the 
Mr.  Gilbert  who  had  been  so  attentive  to 
them,  he  looked  outraged,  said  he  knew  him 
at  college,  and  hoped  he'd  never  hear  his 
name  again,  he  despised  him  utterly.  I  had 
to  change  the  subject,  quick.  Of  course, 
Mr.  Gilbert  will  have  to  sit  with  me  at  the 
lecture,  as  he's  my  guest,  even  if  you  do 
take  him  in  charge  afterward.  John's  whole 
evening  will  be  ruined.  I  can  just  see  him 
getting  stiffer  and  colder,  and  probably  leav- 
ing at  the  end  of  the  second  dance." 

"Well,  for  my  part,  if  I  had  a  man  I 
should  train  him  into —  There,  he's  a 
hero  and  a  saint.  I  won't  say  a  word  agin 
him.  But  why,  oh,  why,  did  you  ask  this 
other  man,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  I  never  dreamed  John  could  come. 
Last  year,  when  mother  and  Helen  were 
out  West  exploring  around,  they  met  him 
(his  father  and  mine  are  old  friends).  He 
was  awfully  courteous  and  nice  to  them. 
Nobody  ever  supposed  he'd  come  East  till 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  143 

goodness  knows  when.  But  he  has  this  fall. 
Mother  always  said  she  wanted  to  be  es- 
pecially kind  to  him  because  of  his  father 
and  because  he  had  been  so  nice  to  her. 
But  you  know  the  whole  family  is  South  for 
the  winter.  When  mother  heard  that  he 
was  in  town,  she  wrote  for  me  to  invite  him 
up  here  to  Phil.  He  probably  wouldn't 
care  to  come,  but,  anyhow,  it  was  all  the 
family  could  do  for  him  in  the  way  of  hos- 
pitality. He  accepted  yesterday,  and  John 
to-day.  Everything  will  be  ruined  if  they 
meet,  yet  I  must  entertain  Mr.  Gilbert." 

"Goon." 

"  Don't  you  see  what  I  want?  " 

"  I  must  say  I  don't." 

"  You  must  be  I,  Miss  Styvert." 

"What?" 

"  This  Gilbert  man  hasn't  seen  me  since  I 
was  a  little  girl  (he  used  to  be  a  horrid 
shouty  boy,  I  remember).  He  wouldn't 
know  me  from  any  other  face  o'  clay,  if  he 
saw  me.  You  will  be  Miss  Styvert,  will 
entertain  him  charmingly,  dance  with  him, 
show  him  around  college,  and  do  everything 


i44  VASSAR  STORIES 

that  I  could  a  great  deal  better  than  I. 
He'll  go  off  to  his  ranch  thinking  that 
mother  has  a  delightful  daughter,  and  that 
the  Styvert  family  have  done  all  they  could 
under  the  circumstances  to  return  his  hospi- 
tality." 

"  Do  you  mean  I  am  to  pass  myself  off 
to  this  strange  man  as  another  girl  ?  Caro- 
lyn Styvert,  I  can't  and  I  won't ! " 

"  Now,  Betty,  you  can  beautifally.  You're 
the  cleverest  actor  in  college.  Nobody  can 
wiggle  around  a  corner  in  class  the  way  you 
can.  You  know  you  can  get  any  earthly 
joy  out  of  anybody  if  you  stop  being  fero- 
cious and  begin  to  blarney.  I  wouldn't 
ask  to  borrow  you  this  way,  bodily,  so  to 
speak,  if  I  knew  any  other  scheme  to  get 
out  of  the  box.  I  can't  ignore  Mr.  Gilbert, 
and  I  can't  make  John  unhappy.  Oh, 
Betty  dear,  you're  so  fascinating,  and  quick, 
and  resourceful,  you  could  carry  off  any  situ- 
ation. Please  don't  desert  me  !  " 

"  I  realize  that  I  am  being  won  by 
honeyed  words  rather  than  by  the  rights  of 
the  case.  It's  business  under  false  pretences, 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  145 

which  is  a  hanging  offence,  I'm  thinking, 
and  I  shall  make  some  never- to-be-mended 
break,  as  sure  as  the  clock ;  but  for  your 
sake  and  that  of  the  cran  —  highly  organ- 
ized John  —  I'll  do  it.  You've  got  to  post 
me  up  on  family  history,  and  cowboys,  and 
his  early  youth,  though.  And,  see  here, 
I  haven't  a  frock  worthy  the  occasion. 
Mother's  dressmaker's  been  going  to  send 
me  my  new  evening  gown  for  the  last 
month.  I  didn't  care  when  I  thought  I 
was  going  to  sit  with  the  populace  in  the 
gallery,  but  if  I'm  to  have  a  little  guest,  I 
must  wear  something  more  festive  than  a 
white  c  pike.'  " 

"You  shall  have  my  new  muslin  de  sote, 
you  dear,  obliging,  good  little  soul." 

"  The  one  you're  going  to  take  the  eyes 
out  of  John  with  !  Thank  you,  I'm  not 
such  a  monster.  My  old  pink  silk  will  do 
if  you'll  lend  me  that  huge  fichu  of  yours 
and  your  grandmother's  silver  comb,  and 
find  something  for  my  feet  besides  red  bed- 
room slippers  or  bicycle  boots." 

"I'll  do  anything  on  earth  for  you,  Betty, 
whenever  you  need  me." 


146  VASSAR  STORIES 

"You'll  probably  have  to  bail  me  out  of 
jail  for  perjury  and  counterfeiting,  later. 
You  can  say  at  the  trial  that  I  was  hypno- 
tized into  my  course  of  deception,  for  I  cer- 
tainly am.  Otherwise  I  should  have  firmness 
enough  to  refuse  at  once.  f  I  misdoubt 
me/  "  she  added  gloomily,  " c  if  any  good 
can  come  of  promiscuous  borrowings  in  a 
haythen  country/ ' 

The  corridors  had  begun  to  fill  with  girls 
fluttering  expectantly  about,  when  Betty 
stepped  from  her  room.  She  had  been  up 
to  Carolyn  three  separate  times  during  the 
afternoon  to  tell  her  she  could  not  be  bor- 
rowed. Each  time  she  had  been  implored 
into  reconsenting.  Now,  fairly  started  in 
the  affair,  the  excitement  of  it  had  begun 
to  work.  She  would  succeed,  and  she'd 
have  some  fun  out  of  it,  too. 

Betty  was  all  a  delicious  umber  color, 
hair,  eyes,  and  complexion.  Dressed  in  a 
queer,  autumnal  pink  gown,  with  a  long 
waist  and  a  fichu  of  old  lace,  her  fluffy  hair 
held  in  a  top-knot  by  a  tall  silver  comb,  and 
high-heeled  bronze  slippers  on  her  little 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  147 

feet,  she  might  have  been  her  own  Creole 
great-grandmother  the  night  she  danced  at 
Washington's  ball. 

All  the  girls  had  come  forth,  to  quote  the 
newspaper  account  of  the  reception,  "  from 
grubs  into  butterflies/'  Even  a  plain  girl 
is  pretty  in  a  light,  low-necked  gown,  and 
pretty  ones  are  altogether  lovely.  Groups 
of  friends  were  hurrying  off  together  to 
secure  front  seats  in  the  gallery,  from  which 
they  could  see  and  criticise  other  people's 
guests.  These  girls  would  sit  on  the  stairs 
after  the  lecture  was  over,  watching  the  life 
in  the  corridors  below,  dance  once  with 
some  one  else's  man,  raid  the  waiters  for 
supplies  of  salad  and  ices,  which  they  would 
carry  away  for  a  private  spread  in  some 
room,  and  perhaps  have  as  much  fun,  in 
a  different  way,  as  those  who  rush  about  try- 
ing to  get  the  men  they  are  with  back  to  the 
girls  (never  at  the  place  they  appointed)  who 
are  running  these  men,  and  return  to  the 
place  where  they  are  to  meet  their  next  part- 
ner before  the  dance  is  all  over.  Girls  are 
not  as  experienced  in  these  matters  as  men. 


i48  VASSAR  STORIES 

Therefore  much  confusion  is  the  result  that 
night,  and  many  explanations  the  next 
morning.  "  Hunted  for  you  everywhere, 
honest,  so  I  just  took  him  down  in  the  Sen- 
ior Parlor  through  the  interval/'  cc  He 
couldn't  dance  one  step,  but  he  believed  he 
could.  I  thought  you'd  never  come  to  take 
him  off  my  hands."  "  I  didn't  mean  to  cut 
my  dances  with  your  brother,  but  I  must 
have  misunderstood  your  number,  so  —  " 

Those  who  have  no  guests  sit  serenely 
aloft,  enjoying  the  lights,  the  music,  and 
the  many  pretty  girls  in  artistic  frocks,  also, 
though  viewed  from  afar,  the  good-looking, 
athletic  young  men  from  Yale,  Princeton, 
and  Harvard. 

The  adaptability  of  the  "eternal  feminine," 
a  trait  —  or  a  gift  ?  —  fostered  by  college  life, 
shows  itself  in  the  girl  who  yesterday  played 
basket  ball  with  pluck  and  dash,  this  morn- 
ing translated  a  Horatian  ode  into  mellow, 
flowing  English,  and  now  stands  in  a  grace- 
ful attitude,  listening  to  her  guest's  story 
with  such  appreciative  interest  that  he  will 
call  her,  to-morrow,  the  cleverest  girl  he  ever 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  149 

met,  though  the  truth  is  he  did  all  the  talk- 
ing himself.  Perhaps  she  is,  for  she  is  wise 
enough  to  know  that  "  when  a  woman  speaks 
she  is  working  for  herself,  but  when  she  is 
silent  Nature  is  working  for  her." 

Occasionally  a  dancer,  hurrying  from  one 
room  to  another,  snatches  time  to  whisper 
to  some  of  the  on-lookers,  "  See  that  tall 
man  over  there?  He  asked  me  what  I 
studied.  Wasn't  that  delicious  ?  "  or  "  That 
babe  yonder  is  a  professor  in  a  college.  I 
mixed  him  up  with  Neil's  brother,  and  asked 
him  if  it  was  his  first  year  at  college.  I 
thought  I'd  please  the  brother,  for  he  isn't 
out  of  the  prep,  school  yet,"  or  "  Did  that 
gigantic  party  ruin  my  gown  when  he  walked 
up  the  train  ?  Look  quick." 

Betty  saw  Carolyn  going  off  towards 
Chapel  on  John's  arm,  so  radiant  to  have 
all  made  smooth  for  his  evening  that  she 
never  noticed  her  borrowed  double. 

"  Now  then,"  thought  the  double,  as  the 
messenger  handed  her  a  card,  "come  up 
under  the  bat,  Miss  Betty, —  no,  Miss  Caro- 
lyn, and  show  what  you  can  do." 


150  VASSAR  STORIES 

Mr.  William  Word  well  Gilbert  certainly 
wore  nice  shoes  and  had  an  agreeable  voice. 
It  was  a  long  way  up  to  his  coat  lapel,  so  he 
must  be  tall.  This  was  as  high  as  Betty 
dare  look  till  they  were  seated  in  Chapel. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  chicken  stealer,"  she 
thought  as  she  sank  into  her  seat.  "He 
doesn't  know  it  if  I  am,  but  he'll  think 
something  queer  if  I  act  this  way."  Where- 
upon she  faced  her  guest  boldly,  though 
conversation  did  not  flow  from  her  as  yet. 
Fortunately,  the  guest  was  a  ready  talker 
himself. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,  Fairbairn  Blake  —  " 
Mr.  Gilbert  was  in  the  midst  of  a  story. 
Betty  jumped  at  the  name.  Blake  was 
common  enough,  but  surely  nobody  but  her 
own  big  brother  owned  the  two  names 
together. 

"  Do  you  know  any  one  by  that  name, 
Miss  Styvert  ?  "  asked  her  guest. 

"  No  —  yes  —  a  little,"  with  a  blush  which 
even  her  brown  cheeks  could  not  hide. 

The  guest  smiled. 

"Thinks   I'm   a  bread-and-butter  school- 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  151 

girl,  or  else  I'm  vastly  interested  in  his 
friend  and  ashamed  to  show  it,"  she  thought 
with  inward  rage. 

"It  may  be  the  same  man,  he  has  a  sister 
here  at  Vassar,  I  believe:  do  you  know  her?" 

Betty  spoke  in  a  determined  voice. 

"  It  must  be  Betty  Blake.  I  know  her." 
She  was  keeping  hold  of  herself  that  she 
might  not  rush  out  of  Chapel. 

The  girl  in  the  next  pew  turned  and 
stared  at  Betty  with  an  amazed  face.  It  was 
the  Japanese  Cat,  and  she  had  overheard. 
She  touched  Betty's  lap. 

"  I  want  you  to  meet —  " 

An  introduction  !  Betty  and  Carolyn  had 
so  arranged  all  the  dances  that  none  save 
those  initiated  in  the  secret  might  be  en- 
countered. But  Chapel  had  not  been  re- 
membered. 

"  Will  you  please  move  down  to  the  end 
of  the  seat?"  said  Betty,  ignoring  the  Cat 
utterly.  "  I  feel  the  air  from  the  window." 

The  next  minute  she  discovered  that  the 
window  was  closed,  a  fact  patent  to  her 
guest's  eyes  as  well  as  her  own. 


152  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  He  now  thinks  me  a  lunatic  and  very 
rude,"  she  said  inwardly,  recalling  the  push 
which  she  had  given  him  in  her  anxiety  to 
get  away. 

She  began  to  talk  rapidly,  inwardly  pray- 
ing for  the  appearance  of  the  lecturer. 

"  Which  is  Miss  Blake  ?  "  asked  the  man 
in  the  pause  Betty  made  to  catch  her  breath. 
"  I  saw  Blake  last  night.  I  happened  to 
tell  him  I  was  coming  up  here,  and  he  said 
to  meet  his  sister  if  I  could." 

"  I  don't  see  her,"  said  the  miserable 
Betty.  "  Here  is  the  lecturer." 

All  through  the  lecture  she  was  thinking, 
"  It'll  never  do  for  Carolyn  to  be  Miss 
Blake  since  he  knows  Fair.  How  can  I 
get  hold  of  her  to  tell  her?" 

Carolyn  had  promised  to  be  in  the  Lecture- 
Room  at  the  end  of  the  first  dance,  to  take 
Mr.  Gilbert  from  Betty.  The  latter  was 
then  to  meet  John  in  the  Faculty  Parlor,  If 
she  could  only  get  this  wretched  man  there 
before  Carolyn,  and  waylay  her  in  the  cor- 
ridor, all  would  be  well.  She  hurried  him 
out  of  the  dancing-hall,  up  the  stairs  at  a 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  153 

round  pace,  treading  on  various  girls  in  her 
ascent.  There  was  Carolyn  by  the  elevator ; 
and,  yes  !  she  was  coming  towards  them. 

"  I  believe  you  are  hunting  for  me,  aren't 
you,  Carolyn  ?  "  said  that  young  woman  in  a 
perfectly  calm  voice. 

Betty  tried  to  slip  behind  her  partner ;  but 
he  was  provokingly  polite,  and  stepped  back, 
too.  There  was  no  chance  to  warn  Carolyn 
by  making  up  a  face.  With  the  stiffness  and 
precision  of  some  manager  announcing  a  new 
member  of  his  troupe,  she  said,  "  I  want  you 
to  meet, —  Mr.  Gilbert,  Miss  White." 

Carolyn  was  a  self-possessed  girl,  yet  she 
could  not  restrain  a  violent  blink,  succeeded 
by  an  agitated  and  questioning  smile.  Betty 
glared  and  frowned  portentously,  too  des- 
perate to  mind  the  guest. 

"Til  have  to  find  Harriet  Soule.  She 
has  the  next  dance  with  him,  and  she'll  be 
sure  to  speak  of  Carolyn  as  Miss  Blake  if  I 
don't  tell  her."  This  was  one  of  the  two 
girls  taken  into  the  secret  to  help  entertain. 

Finding  Harriet  was  not  so  easy.  Betty 
wound  and  pushed  through  the  crowd  on 


154  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  stairs  and  on  second  corridor,  peered 
into  all  the  parlors,  darted  in  and  out  of  all 
the  little  recesses  given  over  to  divans  and 
nan-dancers.  She  saw  John  standing  pa- 
tiently in  the  Faculty  Parlor  waiting  for  her, 
but  she  could  not  stop  for  him.  She  thrust 
herself  into  a  group  of  girls  and  men,  think- 
ing that  among  them  she  saw  Harriet's  black 
net  gown. 

"  Miss  Blake,  may  I  —  "  said  one. 

Betty  pulled  herself  away,  leaving  her 
friend  full  of  wrath.  She  had  seen  Harriet 
coming  out  of  the  hall.  The  dance  was 
over.  She  was  on  her  way  to  find  that 
nightmare  of  a  man. 

"  Harriet !  "  She  planted  herself  directly 
in  her  path,  the  crowd  was  too  dense  to 
admit  of  drawing  any  one  aside.  "  Miss 
Blake's  name  is  Miss  White." 

"What?"  blankly. 

Betty  glanced  at  the  man  with  Harriet. 
cc  I'll  never  see  him  again,"  she  thought. 
Then  aloud,  "  You  are  not  to  call  Carolyn 
Styvert  Blake,  but  White.  Do  you  under- 
stand? "  savagely. 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  155 

The  other  nodded.  Betty  caught  a 
glimpse  of  an  astonished  look  on  the  man's 
face,  then  hurried  on. 

"  I  shall  dance  every  dance  with  that  man 
myself.  He  can  think  I  don't  know  any 
girls  or  I  have  fallen  in  love  with  him  at  first 
sight,  I  don't  care  which.  I  can't  trust  him 
to  any  one  else,"  she  groaned  to  herself. 

Mr.  Gilbert  was  so  good  a  dancer  and  so 
interesting  a  companion  that  the  strain  on 
Betty's  nerves  began  to  relax.  They  went 
down  the  corridor  at  the  end  of  the  waltz  to 
get  lemonade. 

"  Hello,  a  fellow  I  know,"  said  the  man. 
"  Shall  we  speak  to  him  ?  " 

Betty  looked  around.  It  was  Harriet 
Soule's  partner,  and  a  Freshman. 

"  I  don't  know  the  girl,"  she  cried  desper- 
ately, but  the  other  did  not  hear.  He  was 
shaking  hands  with  the  man  and  bowing  to 
the  girl. 

cc  Mr.  [some  unintelligible  name] , 

Miss  Styvert,"  with  awful  distinctness.  "  I 
suppose  no  introduction  is  necessary  with 
you,"  smiling  at  Betty  and  the  Freshman. 


156  VASSAR  STORIES 

"I  have  seen  Miss  Bl  —  " 

"  This  year's  Freshman  class  is  so  large 
that  the  Seniors  don't  know  all  its  members 
yet,"  broke  in  Betty  very  loudly.  The 
Freshman  was  an  acquaintance  of  Carolyn's, 
and  was  perfectly  aware  who  Betty  was. 
"This  is  my  favorite  two-step,  goodbye." 
She  walked  down  the  corridor,  leaving  the 
man  no  choice  but  to  follow. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  look  as  haggard  as  I  feel," 
trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  a  mir- 
ror. "  If  I  live  through  to-night,  I  am  re- 
solved to  lead  a  better  life.  If  it  was  my 
own  plan,  I'd  up  and  tell  him  the  truth  now, 
even  if  he  got  as  mad  as  a  hatter,  but  the 
Styverts  are  so  punctilious,  and  Carolyn  said 
he  was,  too.  Oh,  I  suppose  I'll  live  till 
midnight,  somehow.  Nice  bringing  up 
he  must  think  I  have  !  So  must  Harriet's 
man.  Pretty,  graceful  manners  !  " 

"  Betty  !  Wait  a  minute,  Betty  Blake  !  " 
The  voice  came  from  somewhere  close  to  her. 

Betty  fairly  ran  down  the  corridor.  A 
knot  of  people  were  talking  by  the  stairs. 
They  filled  all  the  space,  and  were  as  dense 
as  a  wall. 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  157 

cc  I  heard  some  one  say  Miss  Blake's 
name  as  we  passed,"  said  the  man.  "  She 
must  be  right  near.  I'd  like  to  see  her." 

Betty  looked  straight  ahead  without  a 
word.  People  had  never  acted  so  at  Phil, 
before,  rushing  out  at  one  from  rooms,  seiz- 
ing one  for  introductions,  and  recognizing 
old  friends  half-way  down  the  corridor.  She 
had  forgotten  about  her  desire  for  the  two- 
step.  She  wanted  to  get  some  place  where 
no  one  could  see  them.  Solitude  was  the 
only  safety.  A  curtained  corner  at  the  end 
of  second  was  empty.  Betty  hurried  to 
it,  and  sat  down.  She  laughed  a  little.  It 
wasn't  life  and  death,  after  all.  And,  really, 
the  situations  had  been  so  absurd. 

cc  How  many  years  is  it  since  we  used  to 
play  together  ?  "  began  the  man. 

"  It  must  have  been  in  a  previous  incar- 
nation," laughed  Betty. 

"You  haven't  forgotten  the  good  times 
summers,  on  the  farm,  have  you  ? "  bending 
a  little  nearer. 

"  Never  spent  an  hour  on  a  farm  in  my 
life.  Hope  he  isn't  going  into  the  flora  and 


158  VASSAR  STORIES 

fauna  of  such  regions,"  thought  Betty,  then 
aloud  with  emphasis,  "  Oh,  no." 

"  How's  that  little  cousin  who  used  to  be 
with  us  so  much  ?  " 

"If  I  only  knew  even  the  sex  of  It!" 
inwardly.  "  Well.  Grown-up,  like  the  rest 
of  us." 

"  What  was  his  name,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Hasn't  your  exciting  life  on  a  Western 
ranch  blotted  out  that  humdrum  little  farm  ? 
There,  that  was  a  neat  way  of  turning  a 
corner,"  she  congratulated  herself. 

"You'll  have  to  help  me  out  on  that 
name,  Miss  Sty  vert.  It  was  a  queer  one, 
too,  that  I'd  be  likely  to  remember." 

"Why,  oh,  why,  didn't  I  get  a  list  of 
Carolyn's  relations,  unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generation  ?  "  Aloud,  "  Ethelbert  Jinkins," 
then  inwardly,  "  That  is  the  name  of  one  of 
my  cousins.  It's  a  relief  to  tell  the  truth 


once." 


"  That  doesn't  sound  like  it." 
"  I  think  I  know  my  own  cousin's  name," 
with  dignity. 

"  Do  vou  remember  the  fort  we  built  in 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  159 

the  brook,  and  the  day  we  made  ourselves 
a  little  hut  to  live  in  forever  ?  "  getting  still 
nearer. 

"  The  sentimental  Bit !  Won't  I  rejoice 
over  Carolyn  with  tales  of  how  she  played 
with  the  boys  in  her  infancy  ?  I  always 
knew  somebody  began  to  make  love  to  her 
as  soon  as  she  could  walk."  The  thought 
so  charmed  Betty  that  she  smiled  benignly 
on  the  stranger. 

"Where's  Mr.  Dimont  now?  I  always 
had  a  great  respect  for  him,  he  was  such  a 
serious  character." 

"  He's  —  he's  there  still,  on  the  farm,  you 
know,"  desperately.  "  I'll  die  soon,"  to 
herself. 

"  Busy  and  important  as  ever?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  drives  everybody  to  town 
now.  He's  married." 

"  Married ! " 

"  I  mean  divorced.  No,  no,  his  wife 
died." 

"  Married !  Divorced  !  Really,  Mr.  Di- 
mont is  getting  on  in  his  ways."  The  man 
laughed  low  and  with  evident  pleasure. 


160  VASSAR  STORIES 

"I've  done  it  now!  Mr.  Dimont  is 
probably  some  old  woman-hater  or  an  enfant 
of  unmatrimonial  years." 

"  Dogs  of  the  Dandy  Dimont  breed  are 
very  bright,  I  admit,"  went  on  the  man. 

"Dogs!"  jerked  out  Betty.  Then  in 
rage  and  confusion,  "  I  have  a  dance  now 
with  another  man.  I'll  take  you  to  your 
partner." 

She  walked  so  fast  that  further  reminis- 
cences were  impossible.  She  was  sure  she 
heard  the  man  laugh  to  himself.  Could  he 
suspect?  Around  the  corner  by  the  musi- 
cians she  darted,  almost  into  the  arms  of 
John,  who  was  peering  over  the  heads  of 
the  crowd  for  some  one. 

"Why,  Betty  Blake!"  he  cried  in  a 
hideously  loud  voice.  "  I  haven't  seen  you 
this  evening.  Will  Gilbert,  you  in  this  part 
of  the  world  ?  "  Betty  caught  John's  arm. 
She  might  be  able  to  prevent  bodily  injury 
to  the  other  man.  John  and  the  stranger 
pumped  arms  up  and  down  violently  amid 
much  "  Glad  to  see  yous,"  "  How'd  you 
get  heres  ?  " 


LENDER  NOR  BORROWER  161 

"John,"  too  amazed  to  think  of  her 
secret,  <c  aren't  you  and  Mr.  Gilbert  deadly 
enemies  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge.  Pardon  me, 
there's  Carolyn, —  Miss  Sty  vert, — Will.  I'll 
have  to  leave  you." 

"  There  was  another  Gilbert  at  college 
with  John,  possibly  that's  the  deadly  enemy. 
Miss  Blake,  now  the  cat  is  officially  out  of 
the  bag,  won't  you  tell  me  why  you  have 
tried  to  be  Miss  Styvert  all  the  evening?" 

"  Have  you  known  all  the  time  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  told  you  I  saw  your  brother 
last  night.  I  was  in  his  rooms.  He  showed 
me  a  picture  of  his  Vassar  sister,  that  I  might 
be  able  to  identify  her.  I  have  a  good 
memory  for  faces." 

"  And  to  think,"  mourned  Betty,  "  that 
I  was  taught  to  write  in  copy-books  each 
one  of  which  contained,  c  Honesty  is  the 
best  policy/  ' 

c<  Suppose  we  go  back  to  that  agreeable 
corner,  and  you  confess  the  whole  dark 
crime." 

After  the  Glee  Club  had  sung,  the  guests 


1 62  VASSAR  STORIES 

had  gone,  and  the  corridors  were  dark  and 
lonely,  Carolyn  stole  down  to  Betty's  room. 
She  found  her  curled  up  in  bed,  and  reciting 
to  an  audience,  likewise  ready  for  bed,  the 
tragedies  of  the  evening. 

"  Carolyn,  your  man  —  not  John,  the  un- 
attached one  —  is  a  terrible  nice  person.  I 
purred  all  the  last  of  the  evening,  I  was  that 
pleased.  But  my  sufferings  before  John's 
revelation  !  You  just  listen  to  me,  every- 
body. I'm  never  going  to  borrow  anything 
again,  and  I'm  never  going  to  lend  anything. 
My  experiences  to-day,  winding  up  with  the 
loan  of  my  truth,  sobriety,  and  sanity,  have 
been  such  that  I  hereby  take  a  vow  unto 
myself.  Who  came  in  just  then  ?  "  Calling 
into  the  dark  parlor,  "Nan  Adams?  If 
you're  after  my  steamer  rug  for  your  bed, 
it's  in  the  left-hand  corner.  Take  it  with 
my  blessing.  You'll  never  get  another  thing 
out  of  me."  Then  to  the  laughing  girls, 
"  (  This  time  don't  count.'  " 


THE  CLAN 


The  Clan 

IT  was  Bonfire  Night  on  the  lake. 
Every  one  who  could  get,  by  any  means 
whatsoever,  a  pair  of  skates,  whether  they 
could  use  them  or  not,  was  down  on  the  ice. 
Laughter,  loud,  jolly  voices,  and  the  crack 
of  hockey  sticks  struck  out  high  echoes  from 
the  bank.  Beginners  who  had  been  able  to 
keep  up  as  long  as  the  band  did,  promptly 
fell  down  when  the  music  ceased.  When  it 
started  up  again,  all  skated  and  all  sang. 

Long  lines  of  girls,  their  hands  on  one 
another's  shoulders,  prison  lock-step  fashion, 
swept  up  the  lake  and  back,  singing.  Rows 
of  girls,  twelve  broad,  the  weak  skaters  in 
the  centre,  swung  slowly  along,  also  singing. 
Solitary  figures  flew  by,  recognizable  for  an 
instant  in  the  glare  of  the  fire.  Little  groups 
of  twos  and  threes  cut  "  eights  "  in  the  ice 
together,  and  did  other  post-graduate  acts, 
or  wavered  excitedly  along  with  thrills  and 
165 


1 66  VASSAR  STORIES 

cries  of  alarm.  A  few  bloodless  beings  shiv- 
ered by  the  fire  or  were  content  to  be  pushed 
about  in  chairs.  But  every  one  sang  and 
laughed,  and  was  for  the  night  and  the  hour 
without  care  or  sorrow.  . 

"  Race  you  round  the  island  and  back  !  " 
cried  a  skater,  as  the  music  stopped  while 
the  musicians  thawed  our  their  fingers. 

"  All  right !  "  answered  the  skater  next  to 
her,  who  was  doing  the  "  double  roll." 
"Now,  one,  two  —  off!" 

The  two  swept  up  the  lake  around  the 
mound  of  earth  called  politely  "  the  island," 
and  back,  past  the  fire,  to  the  goal, — 
the  dock  where,  in  summer,  the  boats  are 
tied. 

"  Come  on,  everybody,  double  chain  up 
and  down  to  the  last  waltz  ! "  called  a  tall 
girl,  starting  out  from  a  bunch  of  others. 
"  Here,  Elizabeth,  catch  on  !  Hurry  up, 
Myra ! " 

The  bunch  separated  into  a  long  line  ex- 
tending half-way  across  the  lake. 

"  Are  you  ready  ? "  cried  the  leader. 
"  Where's  Ethel  Oakley  ?  Catch  on  there, 


THE  CLAN  167 

Ethel ! "  to  a  solitary  figure  skating  on 
rather  unsteadily  just  ahead.  The  skater 
did  not  turn,  though  she  was  directly  in  the 
path. 

"  That's  not  Ethel,"  said  some  one. 

The  line  wavered  for  an  instant,  then 
opened. 

"Whoever  it  is,  give  me  your  hand, 
quick  !  Don't  break  the  line  !  "  cried  the 
leader  again.  "  Cross  your  other  hand  to 
Nan  there,  now !  and  swing,  good,  too  !  " 

Hands  clasped  and  heads  down  against 
the  wind,  which  was  beginning  to  stir  a  bit, 
they  started  slowly  forward.  Then,  as  the 
music  quickened  and  the  swing  gathered 
strength,  the  girls  went  faster  and  faster  till 
the  line  swooped  down  on  the  goal, —  in  a 
way  that  made  timid  skaters  scuttle  to  the 
sides  of  the  lake  —  up  against  the  fence, 
where  it  broke  in  disorder  and  laughter. 

"  I  could  skate  forever  if  I  only  had 
music  !  "  cried  some  one. 

cc  Couldn't  you  !  I  can't  bear  to  go  in. 
I  feel  so  waked  up  I  never  want  to  stop." 

"  Let's  cheer  the  class  !  "  cried  the  leader. 


168  VASSAR  STORIES 

"What's  the  matter  with  Ninety-blank? 
It's  all  right!  Again  !" 

All  over  the  lake  voices  joined  in  the 
cheer,  with  much  noise. 

"  They're  at  it  again !  Did  you  ever 
know  anything  like  those  Freshmen  ! "  said 
a  Sophomore,  unbuckling  her  skates  wrath- 
fully.  "  I  expect  to  hear  them  cheer  for 
themselves  in  Chapel  next.  You'd  think 
they  invented  the  lake  and  the  ice  and  the 
art  of  skating." 

"A  mighty  silly  performance,  I  call  it," 
said  the  girl  addressed  as  Myra.  "  I  do 
think  Ninety-blank  is  too  fresh  to  tolerate 
much  longer."  She  spoke  hoarsely,  for  she 
had  just  been  cheering  with  all  her  strength. 

"  You  wouldn't  dare  say  that  if  you 
weren't  Ninety-blank  yourself,"  retorted  a 
fat  little  seal  of  a  girl. 

"  You'd  assault  me  with  intent  to  kill  if 
I  weren't,  I  suppose." 

"Who  was  that  girl  we  took  on  our 
line  ? "  asked  the  one  who  had  raced  with 
Myra. 

"  I  think  it  was  a  girl  in  our  class  who 


The  Main  Building 


The  Observatory 


THE  CLAN  169 

lives  on  fourth,  near  you  people.  I  can  tell 
her  by  her  queer  cap,"  answered  the  seal. 

The  musicians  began  packing  up  their  in- 
struments, the  fires  were  burning  low,  and 
on  the  intense  stillness  of  the  winter  night 
came  the  far-away  clang  of  a  bell,  the  signal, 
in  the  old  days,  that  in  half  an  hour  lights 
must  be  out. 

The  skaters  hung  their  skates  over  their 
shoulders,  pulled  their  coat  collars  up  higher, 
and  climbed  the  bank  to  the  campus.  Some 
of  them  still  sang,  others  were  talking,  and 
calling  back  and  forth.  There  was  much 
noise  and  laughter,  for  those  two  are  insep- 
arable from  fun  when  one  is  twenty.  Girls 
just  crossing  the  road  shouted  to  girls  half- 
way up  the  campus  invitations  to  come  to 
their  rooms  for  hot  chocolate,  or  rarebit,  or 
Aunt  Jemima  butter  cakes,  or  some  of  the  ex- 
traordinary but  palatable  tinned  comestibles 
bought  from  the  College  store.  Other  people 
made  appointments  to  go  into  town  in  the 
morning, —  the  beautiful  Saturday  morning, 
when  the  lazy  can  sleep,  and  the  industrious 
do  special  topics,  unharried  by  lectures, —  to 


i yo  VASSAR  STORIES 

study  ethics  together,  to  go  swimming  in  the 
Gym.,  to  make  blue  prints,  to  organize  a 
chapter  play  contest  committee,  to  do  all  the 
things  you  never  have  time  for  except  on 
that  blessed  holiday.  Jokes,  chaff,  stories 
of  the  day's  work,  immensely  interesting  or 
amusing,  were  going  up  and  down  the  line. 
Here  and  there  you  caught  scraps  of  quieter 
conversation. 

"He  said  my  class  work  was  good,  but 
my  lab.  was  so  unscientific  that  —  " 

"  Duruy  is  just  fine  on  that,  it's  promised 
to  me  the  first  hour,  then  you  can  —  " 

<c  If  we  can  get  seats,  we're  going  to  hear 
'Valkyrie/  Up  in  Paradise,  you  know, 
where  you  only  have  to  pay  —  " 

"  I'll  play  you  a  game  of  hockey  in  the 
morning  for  a  dinner  at  Smith's." 

It  was  one  of  the  times  when  you  realize 
what  a  good  old  place  College  is  and  how 
you  love  it.  Myra  and  her  fellow-skater, 
Elizabeth  Forsythe,  walked  slowly  up,  swing- 
ing hands  and  listening  to  the  girl  ahead, 
who  was  reciting  gems  of  her  own  and  other 
people's  manufacture,  after  the  similitude  of 


THE  CLAN  171 

"Johnnie  put  poison  in  his  mother's  tea, 
She  died  in  dreadful  agony. 
Johnnie's  father  was  awfully  vexed, 
He  said,  l  Really,  John,  what  next  ? '  ' 

Elizabeth  talked  little,  ever.  She  laughed 
at  the  verses,  but  Myra  called  out  briskly, 
"  Cat,  you  grow  feebler-minded  every  day. 
You  must  spend  hours  hunting  those  things 
out  and  then  learning  them." 

"  I  wish  you'd  stop  saying  c  those  things/ 
Myra,  it  shows  you  haven't  c  the  spirit/ ' 

"The  spirit  of  what?" 

"  There  !  after  that  it's  useless  to  answer 
you.  Anybody  who  has  the  spirit  knows 
what  it  is." 

"  We're  going  to  have  chocolate  in  Eliza- 
beth's room,  Cat,  you  may  come  and  partake 
if  you'll  leave  the  spirit  behind." 

"  I  can't :  it's  an  inalienable  portion  of 
my  mind-stuff.  I'm  going  to  get  neatly 
wadded  with  food  elsewhere,  thank  you. 
Please  extend  your  bid  to  to-morrow  even- 
ing. I'm  not  invited  out  then." 

The  two  girls  entered  the  "  marble  pal- 
ace," passed  the  elevator,  always  prompt  to 


172  VASSAR  STORIES 

set  a  worthy  example  of  early  retiring,  up 
to  fourth,  where  they  separated.  Myra 
kept  on  towards  the  tower.  Elizabeth  en- 
tered the  corner  single.  This  was  a  jolly 
little  room.  All  the  useful  unornamentals 
were  concealed  behind  screens.  A  peace 
and  order,  as  tranquillizing  as  it  was  novel, 
brooded  over  each  book  and  pillow.  Eliza- 
beth pinned  up  the  neatest  of  "  Engaged's," 
changed  her  skating  clothes  for  a  wrapper, 
and  stretched  out  on  the  couch  with  a  happy, 
sleepy  sigh. 

Myra  walked  in  without  knocking,  set  out 
the  chafing-dish,  and  began  to  make  choco- 
late in  a  business-like  way. 

"We've  only  ten  minutes,  Elizabeth," 
she  said,  as  she  stirred  and  sweetened  the 
beverage. 

"Take  ca  babe  cut'  with  me  to  talk. 
We  haven't  had  a  real  talk  one  for  weeks. 
Tomorrow's  Saturday." 

"  The  mail  takes  no  account  of  Saturday. 
I'll  cut  though,  a  little  while." 

Myra  served  the  chocolate,  hunting  out 
crackers  and  potted  tongue  to  go  with  it. 


THE  CLAN  173 

They  ate  in  companionable  silence,  for,  al- 
though the  object  of  the  cut  was  to  talk, 
neither  seemed  in  a  hurry  to  begin.  Occa- 
sionally they  smiled  at  one  another  a  little, 
because  they  were  such  good  friends  and 
were  so  comfortable  and  happy. 

Neither  girl  was  pretty.  Elizabeth's  face 
was  too  colorless,  Myra's  too  odd.  Both 
were  good  to  look  at,  however,  Myra  be- 
cause of  the  energy  and  tonic  frankness  that 
shone  from  her,  Elizabeth  because  of  her 
dignity  and  air  of  high  breeding.  Both,  all 
unknown  to  themselves,  served  as  banners 
to  the  warring  parties  at  strife  over  the  ques- 
tion, "  Is  Vassar  democratic  ?  " 

"  Look  at  Elizabeth  Forsythe,"  said  the 
negatives.  "  Isn't  she  a  regular  snob  ?  She 
doesn't  know  the  names,  even,  of  half  the 
class,  she  doesn't  speak  to  three-fourths  of 
it,  and  she  doesn't  think  any  one  in  it  is 
worthy  to  talk  with  her  except  about  a 
dozen  girls  who  are  her  intimate  friends." 

"Look  at  Myra  Hume,"  retorted  the 
affirmatives.  "  Isn't  she  Elizabeth's  best 
friend,  and  isn't  she  a  pal  of  the  nicest 


i74  VASSAR  STORIES 

girls  of  the  class  ?  And  doesn't  she  tutor, 
and  tote  the  mail,  and  dust  rooms,  and  mend 
clothes  ?  And  isn't  she  as  poor  as  can  be, 
and  dressed  like  a  frump  ?  " 

All  of  which  was  true,  but  proved  nothing. 
Elizabeth  cared  not  at  all  for  money,  posi- 
tion,—  outside  of  College  or  within  it, — good 
clothes,  or  any  of  the  nameless  possessions 
which  seem  to  determine  whether  a  girl  is 
"a  swell"  or  "a  nobody/'  It  is  love  of 
those  per  se  that  make  the  true  snob,  as 
Thackeray,  who  stood  godfather  for  the 
word,  understood  it.  She  would  have  wel- 
comed to  her  business  and  her  bosom  the 
clever,  ambitious  daughter  of  the  little  grocer 
in  her  own  town,  who  lived  in  the  room 
below,  as  royally  as  she  would  have  the 
daughter  of  "  a  hundred  earls,"  if  such  a 
young  woman  were  among  Vassar  students, 
if  the  former  were  what  Elizabeth  called, 
with  her  indescribable  accent,  "  a  lady." 
The  point  lay  there.  One  could  not  be 
"  a  lady,"  argued  Elizabeth  from  a  narrow 
life  and  an  unimaginative  nature,  unless 
one  had  been  reared,  not  only  in  one's 


THE  CLAN  175 

own  proper  person,  but  in  that  of  one's 
ancestors,  in  refinement  and  among  the  pol- 
ishing forces  due  to  wealth.  She  respected, 
oh,  immensely,  the  self-made  girl  "whit- 
tled into  shape  with  her  own  jack-knife "  ; 
but,  as  a  friend,  she  would  have  none  of  her. 
She  had  only  a  few  friends,  as  the  girls  said : 
she  was  content  to  have  it  so.  She  opened 
her  eyes  in  amazement  often  when  she  heard 
some  acquaintance  say,  "  Oh,  yes,  So-and-so 
is  rather  coarse-grained,  but  she's  no  end  of 
fun  and  a  thoroughly  clever  girl."  How 
could  they  find  any  pleasure  in  such  people  ? 
If  some  of  her  own  comrades  were  insipid 
or  dull,  as  they  undoubtedly  were,  at  least 
every  one  was  "  a  lady." 

Elizabeth's  intimacy  with  Myra  had  not 
made  any  more  of  a  "  cosmopolite  "  of  her. 
Myra  was  "  a  lady,"  by  birth  and  training. 
Her  poverty  and  her  consequent  frumpiness 
were  the  fortunes  of  war. 

Myra's  own  place  in  "  society  "  —  as  Vas- 
sar  knows  it  —  was  due  to  powers  quite  out- 
side of  herself, —  she  had  "a  pull."  Her 
two  sisters,  one  graduated  six  years  before, 


1 76  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  other  only  two  years,  had  been  marked 
figures  in  their  day.  They  had  been  neither 
poor  nor  frumpy,  but  resplendent,  lavish, 
brilliant  girls,  born  to  lead  anywhere.  One 
had  been  president  of  her  class,  the  other  of 
Students'  Association,  and,  what  does  not  fol- 
low as  a  matter  of  course,  foremost  in  the  social 
life.  They  were  still  spoken  of  with  admi- 
ration by  even  those  classes  which  knew  them 
not,  personally.  When  Myra  entered,  she 
found  Seniors  and  Juniors  glad  to  know  her 
for  the  sake  of  her  popular,  powerful  sisters. 
And,  if  the  Seniors  and  Juniors  take  a  girl 
up,  her  own  class  are  sure  to. 

The  money  had  all  departed  from  the 
Hume  family,  after  the  sudden  American 
fashion.  Myra  was  a  shabby  girl  who 
tutored,  worked  in  the  library,  distributed 
the  mail,  executed  commissions  in  town, 
copied  essays,  sewed  on  dress  braids,  washed 
hair,  darned  stockings,  cleaned  bicycles,  and 
did  twenty  other  offices  for  the  students  to 
pay  her  College  expenses.  But  was  she 
not  Annette  and  Margaret  Hume's  sister? 
Every  girl  left  in  College  who  had  belonged 


THE  CLAN  177 

in  the  charmed  circle  of  which  Margaret 
Hume  had  been  the  centre  rallied  around 
Myra  immediately  to  show  to  outsiders  that 
once  "  a  swell "  always  "  a  swell."  They 
acknowledged  no  falling  from  grace. 

Elizabeth's  sister  and  Myra's  sister  had 
been  friends,  therefore  Elizabeth  at  once 
sought  out  Myra.  To  her  the  fact  that 
Myra  was  working  her  way  through  College 
proved  her  favorite  theory,  that  "  a  lady  "  can 
never  lose  caste,  no  matter  what  she  does. 

Doubtless  Myra,  endowed  with  many  of 
her  sister's  gifts,  would  have  risen  to  offices 
and  honors  in  College.  Nowhere  is  the 
saying  truer  than  at  Vassar,  that  water  finds 
its  own  level.  But  that  she  should  be  in 
the  heart  of  all  things  gay  and  entertaining 
in  her  Freshman  year  was  more  than  un- 
likely. 

"  Myra,"  said  Elizabeth,  setting  down 
her  cup,  cc  what  is  that  girl's  name, —  the 
one  on  the  ice  ?  " 

"  Which  one  ?  " 

"  The  girl  Neil  took  in  on  our  line  just 
before  we  came  up." 


178  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  That  lives  around  by  me,  you  mean, — 
Lydia  Agnes  Waitely.  I  know  not  only 
everybody's  front  and  last  name,  but  their 
middle  ones  besides." 

"  She  must  be  an  odd  girl." 

"  Why  ?  "  idly. 

"  She  skated  all  the  evening  alone.  I 
saw  her  doing  it  all  this  afternoon,  and  yes- 
terday, too.  I've  noticed  her  lately.  She's 
always  by  herself.  I  think  a  girl  who  never 
wants  any  one  with  her  has  a  singular 
nature." 

"  Maybe  she  does  want  some  one,  but 
can't  have  them.  This  is  an  unfriendly 
place  to  some  people." 

"  Unfriendly  !     Listen  to  that." 

"  That "  was  the  population  of  fourth  play- 
ing about  the  corridor  before  going  to  bed, 
and  making  as  much  noise  as  a  lot  of 
school-boys.  Half  the  Freshman  Class 
seemed  to  be  calling,  "  Good-night,  old 
Mary,"  "  Good-night,  honey,"  "  Thank  you 
for  your  buns,"  "  Had  a  grand  time  at  your 
ball,"  and  other  farewells.  An  all-embrac- 
ing camaraderie  and  good-fellowship  rilled  the 


THE  CLAN  179 

corridor  and  overflowed  to  fifth  centre  and 
third.  Certainly,  all  the  class  to-night 
agreed  with  the  old  lady  of  the  nursery 
rhyme,  who  thought  this  world  "  a  dear, 
sweet  place."  It  was  the  fortnight  following 
the  Mid-years,  and  that  is  always  a  jolly 
season.  If  you  have  escaped  the  wreck  and 
ruin  of  that  time  of  tribulation,  even  though 
it  be  so  as  by  fire,  your  heart  is  full  of  a 
gratitude  so  profound  as  to  be  in  itself  a 
joy.  The  new  semester  with  its  alluring 
promise  of  opportunities  for  you  to  do  the 
great  things  you  failed  to  in  the  past  is  still 
so  young  that  your  illusions  are  untarnished. 
If  you  flunked  at  the  exam.,  at  least  you 
know  the  worst, —  the  blow  has  fallen,  and 
you  still  are  on  the  earth :  you  are  taking 
a  good  breath  before  tutoring  for  the  re., 
some  time  in  April. 

"Yes,  our  own  crowd  burbling  together. 
But  Miss  Waitely  isn't  there,  nor  Miss 
Oberley,  nor  half  the  class." 

"  But  they  are  with  their  own  friends  some- 
where." 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  believe  Miss  Waitely 


i8o  VASSAR  STORIES 

has  any  friends.  She  doesn't  go  with  us ; 
and  who  but  us  lives  up  here  ?  " 

"  Probably  her  friends  live  some  place 
else." 

"They're  not  the  Giffords,  Alice  Put- 
nam, and  Florence  Hillis  and  those  girls, 
I  know.  She  looks  too  nice  to  be  friends 
with  the  Hillyer  and  the  Monly  and  the 
rest  of  the  Objectionables." 

"  But  there  are  several  nice,  quiet  sort  of 
girls  that  she  could  become  acquainted  with. 
That  girl  with  the  lovely  reddish  hair  and 
that  other  little  one  that  limps  and  that  one 
always  with  her.  I  don't  know  who  they 
are,  but  they  look  as  if  they  would  be 
congenial  to  her." 

"  One  of  those  lives  in  a  cottage  and  the 
others  at  Strong.  Besides,  I  don't  suppose 
you  ever  noticed  that  it  is  hard  to  get  to 
know  any  one  here.  You  can't  go  up  to  a 
girl,  and  say,  c  Helloa,  I'm  quiet,  and  you 
look  so,  too.  Let's  be  friends.'  Acquaint- 
ance has  to  come  about  naturally." 

"  I  knew  every  one  of  our  girls  in  a  week." 

"  Of  course   you   did.     You  and   I    had 


THE  CLAN  181 

met  before  we  came.  Sally  Dean  was  your 
school  friend,  Barbara  Sterling's  sister  and 
yours  were  pals.  Lois  Duncan  is  Bab's 
cousin,  Arna  Kellar  rooms  with  Bab. 
Margaret  Uhler  went  to  school  with  Lois, 
Emily  and  Nan  room  with  Lois.  Betty's 
sister  is  a  Senior  :  when  she  was  a  Freshman, 
she  was  Margaret's  sister's  best  friend.  It's 
a  regular  House  that  Jack  Built.  How  do 
you  think  it  would  be  if  you  hadn't  known 
a  soul  when  you  entered  ?  " 

"  1  still  believe  that  unless  a  girl  is  very 
strange  she'll  have  some  friends  by  the  end 
of  six  months." 

"  Elizabeth,  you  vex  me.  You're  so  nar- 
row about  such  lots  of  things." 

Elizabeth  laughed  serenely. 

"  Going  to  join  the  Sunday  night  supper 
club  Bert  Alden  is  getting  up  ? "  she  said 
by  way  of  changing  the  conversation. 

"  Can't.  Costs  too  much.  I  prefer,  my- 
self, our  suppers  a  deux,  where  you  pay  and 
I  do  the  work.  But  I  don't  want  to  hinder 
you  from  joining." 

In  the  discussion  of  the  new  club  the  un- 
known Freshman  was  forgotten. 


1 82  VASSAR  STORIES 

About  a  week  after  this  Bonfire  Night 
Lydia  Agnes  Waitely  lay  on  the  couch  in 
the  "pest-house,"  waiting  for  Lizzie,  the 
little  nurse,  to  bring  up  her  dinner.  She 
was  not  really  ill,  just  German  measles,  and, 
therefore,  dinner  was  something  to  look  for- 
ward to.  Moreover,  Lizzie  was  a  human 
being,  the  only  one  besides  Mrs.  Flett  and 
the  doctors  that  Lydia  saw  all  through  the 
long  day.  It  was  dark  in  the  room  and 
rather  warm.  Lydia  rose  and  opened  the 
window.  She  stood  looking  out  towards 
Music  Hall,  now  alight,  from  which  came 
the  muffled  click,  click  of  pianos.  A  party 
of  girls  were  coming  home  from  Sunset 
Hill.  One  of  them  evidently  went  in  to 
Music  Hall,  for  Lydia  heard  the  others  call 
out  goodbye. 

"  Oh,  girls,"  suddenly  cried  the  Music 
Hall  person, —  Lydia  could  hear  what  she 
said  perfectly, — "  did  you  know  there's  a 
girl  here  sick  with  small-pox  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  It's  only  another  newspaper 
scare,"  answered  one  of  the  others,  Barbara 
Sterling.  Lydia  knew  the  voice. 


THE  CLAN  183 

"  No,  sir,  it's  small-pox.  She's  in  the 
pest-house." 

"  That's  all  you  know,"  said  a  third  girl, 
Myra  Hume.  cc  It's  roseola,  what  Amy 
West  had  Thanksgiving  time." 

"  Who  is  it,  anyhow  ?  "  asked  somebody. 

cc  That  girl  in  our  class  lives  next  to  you. 
I  don't  know  her  name,"  answered  she  of 
the  small-pox  alarm. 

"  Oh,"  said  some  one.  No  one  asked 
any  more  questions.  Apparently,  the  sub- 
ject had  no  further  interest  for  them. 

Lydia  closed  the  window,  laughing.  The 
word  "  small-pox  "  would  spread  like  a  fire. 
In  a  week  Prexy,  the  doctors,  and  Mrs. 
Kendrick  would  be  harassed  by  unnumbered 
letters  and  despatches  from  alarmed  parents. 
All  because  she,  Lydia  Waitely,  had  the 
smallest  of  German  measles. 

Then  she  remembered  the  answer,  "  That 
girl  in  our  class,  I  don't  know  her  name," 
and  the  indifferent  "Oh."  She  stopped 
laughing,  and  pushed  her  face  into  the  pil- 
lows. They  were  wet  in  a  moment  with 
tears  as  bitter  as  perhaps  a  girl  ever  shed. 


1 84  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Why  don't  they  know  my  name !  They 
don't  care  to  know  it !  and  this  is  February  !  " 

Many  a  girl  is  homesick  at  college,  and 
yearns  for  that  friendly  place  where  interest 
in  her  is  a  matter  of  course  and  she  need  do 
nothing  but  be  to  gain  love.  The  unhappi- 
ness  of  such  ones  is  nothing  compared  to 
that  of  the  girl  who  wants  friends  and  can- 
not make  them. 

Lydia  was  that  sort  of  a  girl.  She  came 
from  a  small  place  with  few  young  people 
in  it.  Those  few  were  quiet,  mild-natured 
girls  who  studied,  performed  the  various 
duties  of  their  lives,  and  played  in  a  sober, 
pleasant  way.  Lydia  knew  as  little  about 
fun  as  she  did  about  sadness.  She  came  to 
College  because  she  had  been  the  bright 
pupil  at  her  school  and  the  principal  had 
persuaded  her  parents  that  it  would  be  for 
her  happiness  and  her  well-being  to  take  her 
brightness  to  a  larger  field.  Lydia  expected 
to  work  hard,  learn  a  great  deal,  and  bear 
away  some  honors,  as  she  had  done  at  school. 
She  had  never  met  a  College  girl.  She  did 
not  dream  of  that  life  of  College,  wholly 


THE  CLAN  185 

outside  of  books  and  more  potent  in  its 
influence  than  any  of  them.  Perhaps,  if  she 
had  talked  with  a  graduate,  she  would  not 
have  understood  any  better.  The  thing  is 
so  difficult  to  describe. 

By  the  time  she  had  been  at  College  a 
month,  she  had  discovered  that  there  were 
girls  in  the  world  utterly  unlike  any  she  had 
hitherto  known.  They  amazed  her, —  those 
gay,  jolly,  happy-go-lucky  beings  who 
laughed  and  joked  and  played  through  the 
livelong  day.  They  fascinated  her.  They 
made  her  miserable.  All  about  her  was 
what  she  called,  after  the  title  of  one  of  her 
favorite  magazine  stories,  "  fulness  of  life." 
Yet  she  was  as  much  apart  from  it  as  if  she 
were  still  in  her  dull  New  England  home. 
A  clan,  loyal  to  itself,  sufficient  to  itself,  yet 
admired  by  the  "  Uitlanders,"  the  leader  of 
all  the  good  times,  of  all  the  "society," 
lived  about  her.  She  was  an  alien,  whose 
very  name  it  knew  not. 

If  Lydia  had  roomed  at  Strong,  where 
there  was  a  handful  of  studious,  serious 
girls  like  herself,  she  might  have  been 


1 86  VASSAR  STORIES 

happy  at  once.  If  she  had  roomed  in  first 
south,  the  noisy,  lively  set  which  ruled  that 
corridor  would  have  extended  to  her  its 
friendship,  simply  because  she  was  a  Fresh- 
man and  within  its  precinct. 

Chance  put  Lydia  down  on  fourth,  the 
floor  on  which  lived  Elizabeth  Forsythe, 
Myra  Hume,  and  the  rest  of  the  class 
chiefs.  They  were  all  connected  with  one 
another  in  the  endless  chain  Myra  had  de- 
scribed. They  drew  the  cord  close  about 
the  clan  and  looked  keenly  before  they 
loosened  it  to  admit  a  stranger,  however  at- 
tractive. They  could  not  be  expected  to 
take  in  Lydia,  a  shy  girl,  with  no  single 
quality  of  mind,  body,  or  estate,  to  set  her 
aside  from  twenty  other  Freshmen  they  did 
not  know.  They  did  not  snub  her.  She 
would  have  been  glad  if  they  had.  They 
just  were  not  aware  she  existed.  She  had 
lived  in  a  single  in  that  Chinese  puzzle 
made  up  of  nests  of  little  rooms  by  the 
North  Tower  now  for  six  months.  She 
was  as  lonely  as  the  day  she  entered. 

She  might  have  rubbed  up  acquaintance- 


THE  CLAN  187 

ship  with  the  girl  who  sat  next  to  her  at  the 
table,  or  with  the  two  who  had  essay  interviews 
and  Gyms,  the  same  time  she  did.  These 
had  friends,  too,  who  would  become  hers. 
But  they  were  all  just  like  the  girls  home, 
just  like  Lydia  herself.  She  longed  to  be  a 
part  of  that  different,  delightful  world 
opened  before  her.  She  longed  for  "  ful- 
ness of  life." 

They  made  such  jokes  about  their  work, 
these  girls,  they  took  it  so  lightly,  so  humor- 
ously, yet  some  of  them  were  both  deeper 
and  more  original  than  she,  and  one  was 
openly  pointed  out  as  the  cleverest  girl  in 
the  class.  They  were  taking  the  very  heart 
out'  of  College,  while  she  — 

Once  she  had  known  what  it  was  to  be 
like  them,  to  be  them.  That  night  on  the 
ice  she  had  held  their  hands  hard,  had  skated 
and  sung,  and  laughed  with  them.  It  was 
over  so  soon  !  And  the  walk  up  to  College 
alone,  behind  the  united  clan,  had  seemed  so 
much  lonelier  than  usual  in  contrast. 

The  doctors  pitied  Lydia' s  solitary  days 
in  the  "  pest-house,"  where  she  had  been 


1 88  VASSAR  STORIES 

since  the  morning  after  the  Bonfire.  They 
brought  her  books,  and  told  her  stories  and 
bits  of  College  news  to  cheer  her  up.  In 
reality,  Lydia  was  less  forlorn  than  when  in 
her  own  room  :  she  "  played  "  here  that  the 
whole  class  would  come  pouring  in  on  her, 
did  not  the  quarantine  forbid. 

But,  however  much  you  may  pretend  in 
the  daylight,  when  night  comes  you  feel,  like 
Alice,  that  it  is  hard  work  to  pretend  alone 
in  the  dark.  Lydia's  mind  went  whirling 
through  the  nights  when  she  sat  by  herself 
studying,  hearing  all  about  her  the  voices 
and  laughter  of  girls  running  back  and  forth 
between  rooms ;  the  afternoons  when  she 
walked  about  the  campus  alone,  meeting 
parties  of  jolly  friends,  who  turned  out  for 
her  as  they  would  for  a  tree ;  the  Saturdays 
when  she  read  by  herself,  watching  from  her 
window  troops  starting  out  to  wheel  or 
drive ;  about  the  whole  of  her  lonesome, 
hungry  year. 

She  was  glad  to  hear  Lizzie's  step  on  the 
stair.  No  Lizzie  entered,  however.  The 
new-comer  was  Mrs.  Flett,  and  a  girl, —  an- 


THE  CLAN  189 

other  measles  victim,  evidently.  Lydia's 
heart  gave  a  sudden  jerk  at  the  possibilities 
flashing  through  it,  for  the  girl  was  Eliza- 
beth Forsythe,  chief  of  the  clan. 

Eight  long  days,  of  twenty-four  long 
hours  each,  went  over  the  heads  of  the 
measles  patients  before  they  were  allowed 
to  join  their  fellows  once  more. 

The  "  pest-house "  is  a  better  place  to 
grow  acquainted  than  a  desert  island. 
There  are  possibilities  of  solitary  walks  on 
the  latter :  in  the  former,  escape  from  your 
sister-sufferer  is  as  impossible  as  from  your 
room-mate  in  a  Main  double.  Had  Eliza- 
beth been  twice  as  fastidious  as  she  was,  and 
Lydia  only  one-half  as  likable,  they  needs 
must  have  fraternized,  in  the  endless  after- 
noons, when  all  books  are  taken  away  by  the 
inexorable  Mrs.  Flett,  and  you  are  told  to 
"  rest  without  talking."  It  is  difficult  to  get 
around  that  order  in  the  Infirmary  proper, 
where  a  watchful  nurse  keeps  guard  in  the 
next  room,  and  where  even  a  whisper  seems 
to  carry  miles.  But  in  the  "  pest-house " 
vigilance  is  relaxed,  and  much  may  be  done 


1 9o  VASSAR  STORIES 

in  the  way  of  personal  adventures :  tales  of 
what  my  father  said  and  my  sister  did ; 
comparisons  of  ideas  on  College ;  and,  after 
a  suitable  time,- like  Punch's  "pretty  little 
dears,"  the  tragedy  of  one  another's  lives. 

If  Lydia  made  round  eyes  over  Elizabeth, 
Elizabeth  opened  hers  equally  over  Lydia. 
Here  was  a  girl  who  had  never  travelled, 
never  been  part  of  any  sort  of  social  life, 
never  known  any  cultivated,  interesting  peo- 
ple, who  had  never  owned  a  visiting  card, 
never  heard  of  a  golf  tea  nor  a  Paris  hat  nor 
a  theatre  party,  to  whom  most  of  Elizabeth's 
daily  life  at  home  was  as  foreign  as  that  in 
Manila,  who  was  yet  gentle-mannered,  re- 
fined, "a  lady."  It  was  very  instructive  to 
Elizabeth.  She  asked  Lydia,  as  directly  as 
she  thought  in  accordance  with  good  breed- 
ing, if  there  were  any  more  in  the  world  like 
her.  She  played  with  her  as  a  child  might 
with  a  toy  of  new  and  unsuspected  mechanism. 

Even  in  the  confidences  of  the  twilight  be- 
fore dinner  came  up,  or  the  last  talks  as  they 
lay  in  bed,  Lydia  never  mentioned  her  lonely, 
friendless  year.  Elizabeth  understood,  how- 


THE  CLAN  191 

ever,  the  little  jerks  in  stories,  the  eloquent 
silences  that  meant  "here  others  speak  of 
their  friends,  I  have  none." 

"  I  wish  Myra  could  see  me,"  she  thought 
one  night.  "I  am  being  broadened  by  the 
minute.  It's  like  what  they  say  of  College 
Settlements,  the  chief  good  is  to  the  settlers. 
If  Barbara  Sterling,  and  Lois,  and  Bert 
could  know  a  girl  like  Lydia,  it  would  just 
stretch  their  horizon  line  till  it  would  have  to 
give.  They  shall  know  her ;  she'll  be  as 
educative  as  English  A."  Then  the  sight  of 
Lydia's  face,  which  seemed  to  her  sharpened 
eyes  to  have  a  wistfulness  in  it,  "  They  shall 
know  her  because  she  is  a  dear  girl  who  is  just 
pining  for  fun  and  a  lot  of  burblers,  she's 
nice  enough  to  be  any  one's  friend.  The 
girls  just  must  be  friendly  and  jolly  to  her." 

Elizabeth  went  first.  Poor  Lydia  trem- 
bled and  quivered  all  day,  thinking  of  her 
goodbye. 

"  We'll  have  a  party  at  my  house  to  cele- 
brate our  discharge." 

Would  she  do  it  ?  Would  she  invite  the 
alien,  the  stranger  to  it  ? 


1 92  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Be  careful  you  don't  get  cold,  and  come 
back  if  you  feel  badly,"  said  the  nurse  at  the 
Infirmary  door. 

Lydia  was  free.  She  walked  down  the 
corridor  towards  her  own  house.  Chapel 
was  just  over.  The  girls  were  flooding  the 
stairs,  talking  in  a  way  that  would  have  told 
a  Vassarite,  even  if  their  pretty  light  gowns 
had  not,  that  it  was  Saturday  night.  Lydia, 
dressed  in  a  sensible,  hideous  gray  wrapper, 
shrank  against  the  wall.  There  it  went, — 
the  clan, —  Bert,  Lois,  Betty,  Arna,  Neil, 
arms  on  one  another's  shoulders,  laugh- 
ing, playing,  joking  in  that  maddeningly 
self-sufficient  way  it  always  had.  She  felt, 
as  a  hundred  times  before,  that  she  must 
thrust  herself  violently  in  among  them, 
crying,  "  You  shall  know  I  am  a  human 
being." 

She  opened  her  door.  The  gas  was 
lighted,  and  a  bowl  of  violets  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  table.  Elizabeth  was  kneeling 
at  the  desk,  writing  a  note.  She  took 
Lydia's  hand,  and  held  it  between  both  hers. 

"  The  ball  is   over  at  my  house.     I  was 


THE  CLAN  193 

just   writing   your   invitation,    for   fear  you 
wouldn't  see  it  on  your  block.     Come  on." 

cc  Oh,  I  can't  this  way/'  looking  from  her 
wrapper  to  Elizabeth's  evening  dress.  One 
never  associated  shops  with  Elizabeth's 
gowns,  or  so  much  a  yard.  They  were  as  if 
formed  mysteriously  for  her  in  ways  wholly 
pleasant  to  the  beholder. 

"All  the  more  fun.  You're  just  out  of 
the  Infirmary." 

Not  that,  but  the  thought  that  it  was  more 
as  if  she  were  really  of  the  clan  to  go  so, 
decided  Lydia. 

It  was  a  very  lively,  gay  "  ball,"  as 
crowded  as  most  balls  are,  as  sixteen  girls 
were  seated  in  a  room  rather  a  tight  fit  for 
one,  and  with  far  more  to  eat  than  the  usual 
reveller  finds.  Lydia  said  little,  ate  next  to v 
nothing,  and  laughed  constantly,  as  often 
with  astonishment  as  with  amusement. 
They  were  so  unlike  any  one  she  had  ever 
met,  these  girls  who  were  so  alarmingly 
frank  with  one  another,  so  whimsical,  so 
full  of  alluring  freaks  and  fancies.  For  all 
their  camaraderie  she  felt  out  of  it  all,  like 


i94  VASSAR  STORIES 

some  guest  of  Elizabeth's  who  could  not  be 
expected  to  enter  into  the  fun  thoroughly. 

Elizabeth  stood  Lydia's  unwearied  friend, 
and  Elizabeth  was  a  great  lady  in  the  clan. 
Therefore  it  was  friends  with  Lydia.  She 
was  not  lonely  now.  She  drifted  in  and  out 
of  girls'  rooms ;  lay  on  their  couches,  eating 
fudges  and  listening  to  their  stories ;  sat  on 
the  window-ledges,  between  classes,  discuss- 
ing all  the  mighty  issues  of  College;  was 
hail-fellow-well-met  with  them  all.  Some- 
times Lydia  was  so  happy  she  would  laugh 
aloud  and  whisper  to  herself,  "  This  is  ful- 
ness of  life." 

But  there  were  other  times  when  she  had 
that  old  subtle  feeling  of  the  first  night's 
"  ball,"  that  she  was  not  really  one  of  them  ; 
*  that  she  would  always  be  just  on  the  verge 
of  the  real  intimate  life  of  these  girls.  This 
feeling  took  shape  in  her  mind  as  a  necessity 
to  be  gayer,  more  ready  for  fun,  more  will- 
ing to  stop  work  for  any  pretext  than  the 
others.  Barbara,  Margaret,  Bert,  might  be 
cross  or  low-spirited  or  hidden  behind  "En- 
gaged "  :  she  could  not  be.  Her  place  was 


THE  CLAN  195 

not  the  impregnable  one  theirs  was.  The 
girls  must  not  think  her  stupid  or  a  grind. 
It  would  take  so  little  to  lose  the  hold  she 
had  on  that  gay  little  world.  She  was  a 
guest  there,  liked  and  enjoyed,  but  not  one 
of  the  true  household :  she  must  be  compli- 
ant, like  a  guest. 

This  cost  a  good  deal  of  time,  and  Lydia's 
work  suffered.  It  cost  money,  besides ;  for 
most  of  the  girls  were  rich,  and  spent  money 
in  ways  that  seemed  to  Lydia's  frugal  New 
England  habit  of  mind  little  less  than  un- 
bridled prodigality.  Those  who  could  not 
afford  the  spreads  in  their  rooms,  the  din- 
ners at  Smith's,  the  trips  to  New  York,  the 
drives  about  the  country,  the  constant 
spending  of  money,  said  with  cheerful  frank- 
ness, "  I  am  poor.  I  cannot  do  that,  or  go 
there."  Either  they  remained  at  home, 
without  losing  any  one's  liking,  or  some 
Maecenas  in  the  clan  "paid  the  freight." 
Lydia  had  not  the  courage  to  do  like  them. 
She  had  been  brought  up  by  people  who 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  give  lack  of 
money  as  a  reason  for  not  doing  a  thing, 


196  VASSAR  STORIES 

even  though  it  were  the  correct  one.  She 
felt,  too,  that  here  again  she  could  not  be 
as  one  of  them.  They  would  take  it  amiss 
if  she  refused  to  join  the  fun  because  of  its 
extravagance. 

If  the  old  saying  about  a  friend  at  court 
be  true,  it  surely  applies  to  one's  success 
outside  the  court  as  much  as  that  within. 
When  "the  swells"  became  friends  to 
Lydia,  the  girls  in  all  the  sets  of  the  class 
discovered  how  desirable  an  acquaintance 
she  was.  That  does  not  say  that  they 
were  mean-spirited,  but  that  they  lacked 
independence,  or  in  many  cases  had  really 
never  heard  of  her.  Lydia  was  at  her  best 
with  the  ones  whose  manners  and  customs 
were  more  akin  to  her  own  than  were  those 
of  the  girls  she  admired  so  greatly.  They 
admired  her,  too,  for  underneath  her  shyness 
she  had  a  good  amount  of  force,  and  her 
mind  was  developing  into  a  rather  remark- 
able one. 

"  Lydia,"  said  a  girl  putting  her  head  in 
the  door  one  day,  "  want  to  walk  with  me  ? 
I'd  like  to  have  a  business  discussion  with 
you." 


THE  CLAN  197 

"  Come  in  after  Chapel,  Jean.  I've  been 
making  up  Gym.  cuts  till  I'm  that  tired  I 
couldn't  creep  down  to  first  if  I  was  paid." 

After  Chapel  Jean  came  around  to  the 
room,  bringing  Eleanor  Fonce  with  her,  or 
rather  the  latter  brought  the  former,  for 
Jean  was  a  mild  soul  who  enjoyed  being  led, 
and  Eleanor  was  a  little  shrew  of  a  girl,  never 
happy  unless  stirring  up  somebody  or  some- 
thing. 

"  Now,  Lydia  Waitely,  what  do  you  think 
about  this  committee  deal  at  the  last  class 
meeting  ? "  began  Eleanor,  seating  herself 
with  a  snap  and  fixing  her  bright  eyes  on 
Lydia. 

"  Um, —  well,  it  was  a  deal  sure  enough, 
but  don't  you  think  it  was.  involuntary  ?  " 
cautiously. 

"  Involuntary  !  "  with  contempt.  "  Every 
time  I  nominated  one  of  our  girls,  Elsie 
Gifford  would  nominate  another  of  us,  then 
Florence  Hillis  would  nominate  one  of  their 
set.  Of  course  our  votes  were  split  between 
our  two  girls,  and  so  their  candidate  was 
elected  every  time.  I'm  good  enough  friends 


198  VASSAR  STORIES 

with  Elsie  and  Florence  and  that  lot,  though 
we  don't  trot  in  the  same  class  exactly,  but 
I  hate  this  way  they  have  of  trying  to  run 
the  class,  as  if  because  they  wanted  a  thing 
so,  that  was  the  only  way  it  could  be  done." 

"  I  don't  think  they  try  to  manage  things 
and  keep  all  the  offices  to  themselves  any 
more  than  Elizabeth  Forsythe's  set.  They 
act  —  er  —  they're  awfully  nice  girls,  every 
one  knows  that, —  but  you  don't  like  to  have 
the  nicest  girls  act  so  well  —  ordery,  do 
you  ? "  Jean's  voice,  bold  at  the  start, 
tailed  off  miserably.  Lydia  thrilled  with 
happiness.  Jean  had  remembered  her  hos- 
tess's alliance  with  the  Forsythe  set. 

"  Now,  I  tell  you  what  those  GifFords  and 
Putnams  and  that  ilk  are  about.  They're 
pretty  sure  we  will  put  up  a  girl  for  class 
president,  then  they'll  put  up  another  of  us, 
and  then  they'll  put  up  one  of  themselves. 
Our  votes  will  divide,  of  course,  just  as  they 
did  last  night,  theirs  won't.  Besides,  they'll 
have  all  the  votes  of  your  friends,  Lydia,  for 
they'll  never  vote  for  us.  They  think  we're 
grinds  and  pokes  and  that  sort  of  thing." 


THE  CLAN  199 

Eleanor's  face  grew  redder  and  redder  as 
she  talked,  her  voice  had  an  angry  twang. 

"  But,  Eleanor,  maybe  those  girls  will  put 
up  Sally  Dean  or  Bert  Alden.  Then  we'll 
have  as  good  a  chance  as  any  faction,"  said 
Jean. 

"  No,  we  won't.  Because  our  girls  are  so 
weak-spirited  they  either  don't  vote  at  all, 
or  so  senseless  they  vote  for  their  friends 
instead  of  uniting  on  one  girl  to  beat  the 
machine." 

"Machine!"  laughed  Lydia.  "What's 
your  party  but  a  machine,  too  ?  " 

"We're  an  organization,"  hotly.  "We 
don't  care  whether  our  girl  or  somebody 
else's  girl  gets  the  place  as  long  as  it's  the 
best  girl.  But  we're  not  willing  to  admit 
that  a  girl  from  one  of  those  two  sets  is  the 
best  girl  just  because  she  comes  from  them. 
See  ? " 

"  Are  you  speaking  editorially,  Eleanor  ?  " 
asked  Lydia. 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  two- 
thirds  of  the  class  are  outside  of  those  two 
sets,  the  swell  one  and  the  lively  one,  if  you 


200  VASSAR  STORIES 

want  to  have  a  name  for  them.  Do  you, 
Lydia  Waitely,  honestly  think  it's  fair  for 
the  minority  to  shut  out  the  majority,  when 
that  is  just  as  clever  and  capable,  only  not 
so  pushing.  Do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,  Eleanor  !  I'll  do  what  I 
can  against  it.  What's  your  plan  ?  " 

"  This.     You  run  for  president." 

"  Me  ?  "  with  more  amazement  than  ele- 
gance. 

"  Yes,  you.  All  our  girls  like  and  respect 
you,  so  you're  sure  of  our  votes.  Then 
Elizabeth  Forsythe  will  vote  for  you  ;  and, 
if  she  does,  Myra  Hume  will  of  course,  and 
Bert  Alden.  If  Bert  does,  Betty  Blake  will, 
and,  oh !  all  the  others  in  that  camp  about. 
You  can  defeat  any  Gifford  candidate  ever 
made ;  and,  even  if  the  Giffords  and  the 
Forsythes  do  join  against  you,  I  think 
there's  enough  of  us  to  elect  you." 

Lydia  stared  at  her  visitors  helplessly. 
Was  it  just  a  year  ago  this  very  month  that 
she  had  cried  herself  to  sleep  in  the  Infirm- 
ary, a  friendless  Freshman  ? 

Jean  and  Eleanor  stayed  an  hour  talking 


THE  CLAN  201 

elections  in  general,  Lydia's  own  in  particu- 
lar. When  they  left,  she  was  aroused  with 
a  righteous  heat  against  all  wire-pullers  save 
those  who  pull  for  a  noble  end.  This  was 
strengthened  by  a  remark  she  overheard  on 
the  corridor  below,  where  she  had  gone  to 
borrow  a  book,  having  decided  to  study  a 
bit  now  the  serious  business  of  the  evening 
was  over.  The  speaker  was  Elsie  GiiFord. 
She  was  laughing  exultantly  with  another 
girl  as  they  drank  at  the  "fountain  of  learn- 
ing," otherwise  the  water-cooler. 

"  Smooth  wasn't  the  word  for  it !  Every 
time  Eleanor  Fonce  nominated  one  of  her 
friends,  I  nominated  another  and  split  the 
party  like  a  knife." 

Elsie  had  been  mean  purposely  !  Lydia 
was  determined  to  win  if  she  could.  She 
hated  that  spirit  of  crowding  out  really  fine 
girls  from  all  positions  simply  because  they 
were  not  of  a  certain  social  order. 

For  a  week  Eleanor,  her  henchman  Jean, 
and  another  fiery  agitator,  Mary  Veach, 
electioneered  for  Lydia.  The  girls  of  their 
camp  were  enthusiastic  for  her,  they  re- 


202  VASSAR  STORIES 

ported.  Some  of  those  who  did  not  know 
her  even  came  to  her  to  tell  her  they  should 
vote  for  her  because  they  thought  she  stood 
for  no  one  party,  but  for  all.  Lydia  hardly 
slept  or  ate,  she  was  so  excited.  Surely, 
this  was  "  fulness  of  life." 

"  Girls/' —  it  was  an  excited  Sophomore 
who  burst  into  Elizabeth  Forsythe's  room 
one  morning, — "  do  you  know  what's  going 
to  happen  at  the  election  ?  " 

Elizabeth,  Myra,  Lydia,  and  Bert  Alden 
were  coaching  one  another  up  in  Sophomore 
Argumentation  for  a  next  hour  recitation. 
They  dropped  the  "  Case  of  Evans  "  imme- 
diately, however,  to  consider  the  far  more 
important  case  of  the  next  class  president. 

"  Miss  Fonce  and  her  friends  are  going  to 
nominate  some  one  of  themselves  and  elect 
her,  too,  Elsie  Gifford  told  me.  She  hasn't 
found  out  who  it  is  yet;  but  she  says  the 
girl  will  win,  whoever  she  is,  because  all 
those  queer,  drab  girls  nobody  knows  are 
sure  to  vote  for  her.  Think  of  having 
Miss  Hillyer  or  the  delightful  Evelina 
Larned  for  president  and  representative  of 
our  class  !  " 


THE  CLAN  203 

"  They  won't  put  up  any  one  like  that, 
you  foolish  party,"  said  Myra.  "It  will 
probably  be  Leslie  Owen  or  Miss  Pelton." 

"  There  isn't  a  girl  among  them  really  fit 
for  president,"  scolded  the  bearer  of  evil 
tidings. 

"  Whom  do  you  want?  "  asked  Lydia,  with 
an  effort.  She  had  meant  to  say  "  we." 
The  other  came  out  of  itself. 

"  Why,  Emily  Fullham,  of  course.  She's 
bright,  chock  full  of  business,  and  popular 
with  every  one.  And  isn't  she  a  stunner  to 
look  at !  She's  done  heaps  for  the  class. 
Those  other  girls  want  her,  too.  They  say, 
if  we'll  vote  for  May  Giffbrd  for  Miscellany 
editor,  they'll  vote  for  Em  for  president." 

Straightway  all  tongues  fell  a-wagging  till 
the  bell  announced  that  the  "  Case  of 
Evans  "  must  at  last  get  a  hearing. 

Lydia  sat  in  the  class,  with  her  eyes  riveted 
on  the  A's,  B's,  and  C's  with  which  the 
professor  was  marking  on  the  board  as  with 
mile-stones  the  progress  of  the  famous 
Burke's  speech.  But  what  point  in  Mr. 
Evans's  career  seemed  best  denoted  by  A 


204  VASSAR  STORIES 

and  what  by  B  she  could  never  tell,  for  she 
was  trying  the  case  of  Lydia  Waitely  against 
Emily  Fullham. 

She  did  not  like  Emily,  but  the  class 
adored  her.  Emily  was  one  of  its  charter 
members,  so  to  speak.  In  an  issue  between 
them  the  girl  known  and  loved  from  the 
beginning  of  Freshman  year  would  have  all 
the  advantage  over  one  brought  in  towards 
the  close.  Then,  too,  if  she  were  nominated 
by  Eleanor  Fonce,  she  would  stand  out  at 
once  as  a  candidate  from  another  party,  the 
cc  Uitlanders."  The  girls  would  be  enraged 
at  her.  Some  of  them  might  drop  her  as  a 
traitor.  Elizabeth  cared  more  for  Emily 
than  for  her ;  and  Elizabeth  was  dear  to 
Lydia,  not  only  as  her  patron,  but  as  the 
strongest  and  sweetest  girl  she  had  ever 
known. 

Yet  she  had  consented  to  be  the  candidate 
for  the  Uitlanders,  had  made  small  campaign 
speeches  in  girls'  rooms.  Moreover,  she 
really  felt  that  the  right  lay  with  them. 
The  clan  and  the  Giffords  (the  party  tak- 
ing its  name  from  the  two  sisters  who  were 


THE  CLAN  205 

its  leaders)  did  try  to  manage  the  class  for 
its  own  interest  and  did  trample  down  the 
mild,  unassertive  grinds.  There  was  pleas- 
ure in  the  thought,  too,  much  pleasure,  in 
being  president.  Outsiders  would  never 
know  how  she  came  to  be  elected.  For 
them  she  would  shine  as  elected  because  she 
was  tremendously  popular.  Yet  Lydia,  like 
a  wise  girl,  knew  that  it  is  only  your  place 
in  the  class  that  counts,  after  all. 

Her  duty  ?  her  desire  ?  Lydia  had  been 
taught  to  decide  all  questions  by  the  first; 
but  then  she  had  never  before  experienced 
"fulness  of  life." 

The  rank  and  file  of  the  Uitlanders  were 
angry  and  surprised,  the  leaders  were  furious 
and  amazed,  when  Lydia  took  them  her  re- 
fusal to  run  for  president.  It  was  a  gloomy 
conference.  Lydia  went  from  it  to  an  exam. 
—  the  Mid-years  had  just  begun  —  with  the 
feeling  that  she  was  a  criminal  and  a  blun- 
derer. 

"  Lydia  !  "  "  Lyddy  !  "  "  Oh,  Lydia,  you 
nice  old  bun  !  "  "  Come  in,  Lydia,  and  cele- 
brate !  "  clamored  all  sorts  of  voices,  as  she 
passed  a  room  on  her  way  from  Chapel. 


206  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  We've  heard  about  you,"  cried  Sally 
Dean,  hugging  as  far  up  as  she  could  reach, 
— "  how  the  Fonce  and  the  Veach  wanted 
you  to  run  for  president,  but  how  you 
wouldn't  because  you  wanted  little  Em'ly, 
just  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  We  heard  !  We  heard  !  "  came  the  cho- 
rus. Every  girl  present  seized  some  portion 
of  Lydia,  and  hugged  it  or  shook  it  or 
pounded  it.  She  was  hustled  on  to  the 
couch,  fed  with  candy,  and  made  to  listen 
to  every  one's  opinion  of  the  coming  elec- 
tion as  one  whose  appreciation  was  worth 
having. 

Lydia  looked  about  the  room  filled  with 
all  the  girls  with  whom  a  year  ago  she  had 
so  longed  to  be  friends.  They  were  seated 
at  her  feet,  beside  her,  on  her.  She  thought 
of  the  influence  and  position  she  had  given 
up.  She  remembered  a  sentence  from  Mary 
Wilkins's  "A  New  England  Nun."  She 
whispered  to  herself,  with  a  queer  smile, 
"  She  had  sold  her  birthright  for  a  mess 
of  pottage,  but,  then,  the  pottage  was  so 
sweet." 


THE  CLAN  207 

What  was  left  of  the  week  Lydia  conse- 
crated to  exams.  The  excitement  of  the 
coming  election  had  crowded  those  usually 
mighty  events  into  the  background.  She 
had  played  all  the  year.  She  now  set  about 
doing  the  work  of  three  months  in  three 
days.  As  this  is  never  accomplished  success- 
fully, except  by  geniuses,  and  college  boys 
in  their  own  accounts  of  themselves,  Lydia 
trembled  for  the  outcome. 

Saturday  night  she  came  up  from  a  day  in 
New  York.  She  had  "  bunted  "  joyously 
with  some  chosen  spirits  and  had  been  roy- 
ally happy  till  she  began  to  ask  herself,  as 
the  train  reached  about  Newburg,  "  Where 
has  all  my  money  gone  ?  "  By  that  system 
of  mental  accounts  made  up  of  "  seventy-five 
cents  for  my  new  tie,"  "  ten  to  the  porter," 
"five,  and  five,  and  five  for  car-fare,"  she 
discovered  the  path  by  which  each  dollar  had 
slipped  away.  But  to  that  other  sadder 
question,  cc  Why,  oh,  why,  did  I  spend  so 
much  ?  "  she  could  find  no  answer. 

On  her  couch  lay  a  pile  of  letters,  from 
home,  from  College,  in  the  treasurer's  hand, 


208  VASSAR  STORIES 

and  —  ah !  three  others  also  unstamped.  The 
treasurer's  letter  contained  no  news,  only  an 
unpleasant  reminder,  in  the  form  of  an 
itemized  statement,  of  her  debt  to  Vassar, 
composed  of  an  Infirmary  bill,  and  money 
borrowed,  the  amount  in  all  of  a  hundred 
dollars.  Lydia  had  never  owed  twenty  cents 
till  she  came  to  College.  Moreover,  the 
pressure  of  a  debt  depends  not  on  its  own 
weight,  but  on  the  strength  of  the  purse 
which  sustains  it.  Lydia's  was  feeble. 

The  first  little  envelope  enclosed  the  card 
of  one  of  the  English  professors,  on  which 
was  written :  — 

"  Miss  Waitely  will  please  present  herself 
for  re-examination  in  English  B,  April  17." 

The  second  had  a  printed  form  :  — 

"  I  regret  to  state  that  Miss  Waitely's 
[her  name  filled  in]  work  in  Physics  is  de- 
ficient," signed  by  the  professor. 

The  third  was  a  letter  covering  three 
pages,  in  which  "  my  dear  girl "  and  "  my 
young  friend "  was  informed  of  the  how, 
why,  and  how  much  she  had  failed  in  Greek, 
and  urged  to  devote  herself  earnestly  to  the 


THE  CLAN  209 

task  of  making  up  the  work,  thus  learning 
Greek  and  cultivating  character  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Shall  I  tack  these  up  on  the  wall  the 
way  Mary  Wilkes  did  ?  "  she  said  aloud 
with  a  forlorn  smile. 

Her  mother's  letter  had  no  comfort. 
Business  was  bad,  her  father's  illness  had 
been  expensive  :  would  she  be  unhappy  if  she 
had  a  much  smaller  allowance  the  rest  of  the 
year  and  no  new  clothes  ?  Everything  would 
be  brighter  in  the  fall. 

"  Flunked  three  studies  !  Owe  a  hundred 
dollars  !  No  money  coming  !  It's  hideous  ! " 
Then,  as  laughter  and  voices  sounded  down 
the  corridor,  "I  don't  care  !  It  was  worth 
it ! " 

Then  she  went  to  bed,  and,  being  not  yet 
twenty-one,  immediately  to  sleep. 

Lydia  told  no  one  her  troubles,  for  she  had 
the  New  England  power  "  to  burn  her  own 
smoke."  She  faced  the  situation  pluckily. 
Through  her  own  choice,  conscious  if  not 
deliberate,  she  was  three  subjects  behind  the 
class  and  in  debt.  She  must  make  up  the 


210  VASSAR  STORIES 

subjects ;  she  must  earn  the  hundred  dol- 
lars. No  more  fun  with  any  one.  Hence- 
forth she  would  be  numbered  among  the 
grinds,  the  shabby,  over-worked,  worried 
ones ;  for  there  are  degrees  even  in  the 
state  of  grinds.  How  would  the  clan  act  to 
her  now  ?  That  troubled  Lydia  more  than 
how  she  could  raise  a  hundred  dollars. 

Spring  —  the  coaxing,  alluring  spring  — 
had  come.  Other  people  played  about  in 
the  beautiful  outdoors  and  were  happy  after 
their  several  kinds.  Lydia  toiled  and  moiled, 
shut  up  in  her  little  room  behind  a  huge 
"  Engaged."  She  began  to  work  every  day 
at  six ;  she  worked  between  breakfast  and 
first  recitation,  between  fourth  hour  and 
luncheon,  between  dinner  and  Chapel.  This 
last  was  the  hardest  of  all;  for  she  could 
hear  the  girls  as  they  strolled  by  arm  in  arm 
under  her  window,  and  see  them  as  they 
played  games  out  on  the  campus.  She 
worked  all  Sunday  and  all  Saturday.  She 
began  to  be  haggard,  and  her  clothes  had 
the  appearance  of  having  been  put  on  with 
one  hand  while  she  took  notes  on  some- 


THE  CLAN  211 

thing  with  the  other.  When  she  went  to 
walk,  she  analyzed  subjects  for  argumenta- 
tion or  recited  physics'  formulae.  By  June 
she  was  only  half  an  inch  from  brain  fever. 
But  she  had  made  the  class  again,  and  had 
lessened  her  debt  two-thirds. 

"Will  you  please  tell  us,"  Betty  Blake 
had  said,  seizing  upon  Lydia  one  day  early 
in  March,  "  why  youVe  turned  from  an  at- 
tractive young  Personality  into  a  dun-col- 
ored Intellectualness  ? " 

"  I'm  studying  Greek.  I  want  to  know 
more  about  it." 

"Well,"  quoted  Betty,  "c  I  am  sorry  in- 
deed that  I  have  no  Greek ;  but  I  should 
be  sorrier  still  if  I  were  dead/  That's  what 
you'll  be  if  you  keep  on  a-grindin'-of  at 
such  a  fierce  rate." 

"  Lydia  Waitely,"  said  Barbara  Sterling, 
"  none  of  us  see  you  any  more,  ever.  Why 
do  you  shut  yourself  up  so  ?  " 

"  Lyddy  !  "  cried  Emily  Fullham.  Lydia 
hated  to  be  nicknamed.  "You  must  be 
dead  set  on  an  honor,  or  you'd  never  work 
so  like  a  little  dog." 


212  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Come  play,  honey/'  coaxed  another. 

"  No  time." 

"  Time  was  made  for  slaves." 

"  I  am  a  slave." 

Even  Elizabeth  Forsythe,  who  usually 
thought  other  people  as  capable  of  man- 
aging their  own  affairs  as  she  could  be  for 
them,  wrote  on  Lydia's  block,  "  Nothing 
more  moves  a  wise  man's  pity  than  the 
case  of  one  who  is  in  too  much  hurry  to 
be  learned." 

After  a  bit  the  clan  ceased  to  trouble 
about  her.  They  liked  her  still,  but  she 
was  as  if  out  of  College.  She  never  came 
their  way,  and,  when  they  went  to  her,  she 
did  not  want  to  see  them.  Even  at  the 
table  she  was  too  absorbed  to  talk  or  to 
listen. 

Her  Junior  year  Lydia  drew  a  room  in 
Raymond.  The  clan  was  in  Strong,  the 
Giffords  held  Main.  Raymond  had  the 
greater  number  of  the  class.  Differences 
of  buildings  are  nearly  as  differences  of 
miles  at  College.  Lydia  seldom  saw  her  old 
friends  except  going  to  and  from  recitations. 


THE  CLAN  213 

She  had  never  really  belonged  to  them :  she 
could  not,  by  her  very  nature,  become  one 
of  them.  Perhaps,  like  Dr.  Johnson's 
Scotchman,  if  she  had  been  caught  young, 
much  might  have  been  made  of  her  in  that 
direction.  But  she  was  too  old  when  she 
entered  College.  She  knew  all  this, —  that, 
if  she  had  been  really  one  of  them,  nothing 
could  have  separated  her  from  them.  As  it 
was,  her  absorption  in  her  work  and  -then 
her  distance  were  the  occasions  under  which 
lay  the  real  cause,  her  own  character.  She 
was  neither  better  nor  worse  than  they. 
She  simply  was  not  like  them  and  never  could 
be.  She  longed  as  much  as  ever  to  be  one 
of  them.  But,  at  least,  she  had  memories 
of  past  comradeship  to  console  her. 

She  was  almost  as  much  by  herself  as  the 
first  year.  The  body  of  the  class  still 
thought  of  her  as  a  girl  in  another  set,  who 
would  not  care  to  know  them.  She  did  not 
try,  for  her  part.  Her  comfort  was  her 
work.  She  went  into  that  vigorously,  even 
lovingly,  spending  whole  days  in  the  library 
with  James's  Psychology  or  the  early  play- 
wrights. 


214  VASSAR  STORIES 

She  began  —  she  could  not  tell  how  —  to 
feel  the  life  of  College  as  it  is  for  all  its 
members,  without  distinction  of  class  or 
clique,  to  understand,  albeit  dimly,  the  re- 
lation of  the  students  to  the  place.  Self- 
government  committees,  editorships,  presi- 
dencies of  student  associations,  did  not  come 
into  being  primarily,  she  reasoned  out,  to 
give  popular  girls  a  chance  to  have  an  out- 
ward and  visible  sign  of  their  hold  on  the 
affections  of  two  hundred  or  so  others,  nor 
ambitious  little  Napoleons  a  field  in  which 
to  show  how  they  could  handle  their  fellow- 
beings,  but  that  the  business  for  which  Mat- 
thew Vassar  builded  his  College  might  get 
on  happily  and  successfully. 

This  was  new  to  Lydia.  Stung  by  the 
splendor  of  this  sudden  thought,  she  inter- 
ested herself  in  all  the  clubs,  committees, 
and  organizations  of  College.  She  did  not 
lobby  nor  pull  wires.  She  was  tired  of  that. 
She  made  speeches  in  class  and  in  Student 
Association  meetings  that  told  for  her  end ; 
all  the  more  because,  belonging  to  no  party, 
she  could  ever  speak  as  she  believed.  When 


THE  CLAN  215 

she  was  given  a  small  office,  as  sometimes 
happened,  she  made  the  office  tell,  too. 
She  grew  to  be  a  power,  though  she  never 
suspected  it. 

All  this  time,  unperceived  by  Lydia,  the 
sets,  factions,  circles, —  all  the  groups  of 
girls, —  were  coming  together  in  one  united 
whole.  The  Class  of  Ninety -blank  was 
finding  itself. 

One  morning  in  April  Lydia  was  called 
away  from  breakfast  to  receive  a  telegram. 
Her  mother  was  ill.  She  started  home  at 
once,  and  for  a  month  College  saw  her  no 
more. 

She  had  no  real  friend  there,  and  so  she 
received  no  letters.  What  was  there  to 
write  about,  anyhow? 

A  soft,  thick  mist,  through  which  the 
lights  looked  a  queer  yellow,  folded  itself 
all  about  College  as  she  walked  up  the  path 
from  the  Lodge. 

"What  are  all  the  girls  doing,  running 
back  and  forth  so  much?"  she  thought. 
"  It's  not  Friday." 

Three    Freshmen    from     Raymond   were 


216  VASSAR  STORIES 

coming  out  of  the  door  as  she  entered.  She 
knew  them  a  little.  They  all  laughed  as 
they  saw  her,  after  the  reasonless  manner  of 
their  tribe. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Waitely,  are  we  the  first  to 
congratulate  you  ?  " 

Then  they  laughed  again,  so  hard  that 
before  they  caught  breath  a  Ninety-blank 
ran  down  the  stairs,  carromed  into  Lydia, 
steadied  herself,  and  cried  as  one  word, — 

"  You-are-president-of-Students  ! " 

"  Students  !  Students  !  "  shrieked  an- 
other, sending  her  voice  ahead  of  her. 

"  Lydia  Waitely,  president  of  Ninety- 
blank's  Student  Association  ! "  shouted 
some  one  else.  From  the  campus,  the 
Library,  Main,  Strong,  and  Raymond 
poured  in  the  class,  and  the  underclassmen, 
—  who  didn't  know  Lydia  at  all,  but  who 
wanted  to  make  a  noise  and  shout, —  and 
fell  upon  Lydia  with  demonstrations  of  joy, 
undignified,  grateful,  heart-warming. 

In  her  absence  she  had  been  nominated 
as  the  strongest,  coolest,  broadest  girl  in  the 
class.  Elsie  GirTbrd  had  run  against  her. 


THE  CLAN  217 

"  But  she  never  had  much  of  a  show, 
Lydia,"  explained  one  of  the  clan  as  she 
walked  over  towards  Raymond  with  Lydia. 
"  Of  course  the  girls  did  talk  about  Eliza- 
beth/'—  the  speaker  lowered  her  voice,  for 
Elizabeth,  surrounded  by  friends,  was  just 
ahead, — "  we  do  all  love  her  so  ;  but  we  all 
felt  you  were  the  girl  for  the  position, 
Lydia." 

Lydia  followed  the  path  to  Raymond 
alone.  She  had  won  the  highest  honor  in 
College.  She  ought  to  be  perfectly  happy, 
and  yet — .  She  stopped  and  looked  up  at 
Elizabeth's  room.  The  curtains  were  up, 
and  she  could  see  it  filling  with  girls.  They 
were  talking  and  laughing  —  burbling  —  in 
the  old  dear  way  once  a  part  of  her  College 
life,  now  out  of  it  forever. 

"  We  all  do  love  Elizabeth,  but  you  were 
the  girl  for  the  position,"  she  repeated.  "  I 
wonder  if  Elizabeth  would  like  to  change 
places,  too." 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME 


At  the   First  Game 

THE  first  basket-ball  game  is  the 
happiest  of  the  year.  It's  exciting 
enough  to  be  fun,  but  not  enough  to  be 
painful.  Of  course  you  want  your  class  to 
win.  You  can  live,  though,  if  it  doesn't. 
Class  rivalry  is  still  in  the  good-natured 
state,  later  it  is  full  of  malice  and  all  un- 
charitableness.  Perhaps  the  real  reason  is 
that  the  first  game  marks  the  beginning  of 
those  days  which  are  the  best  a  girl  ever 
knows.  Spring  semester  at  Vassar.  Winter, 
when  even  the  grigs  grew  dull,  is  over.  The 
spring  vacation,  that  mirage  ever  receding  as 
you  approached,  is  over,  too  ;  but  its  rest  has 
made  a  new  girl  of  you.  The  June  exami- 
nations are  too  far  away,  as  Vassar  counts 
time,  to  form  even  the  smallest  cloud  on  the 
wide,  blue  sky. 

You  know,  either  by  experience  or  intui- 
tion, that,  for  good  or  ill,  your  class  record 


222  VASSAR  STORIES 

is  closed.  You  will  study  no  more  this 
semester,  till  the  one  grand  final  cram  for 
the  examinations.  You  may  take  a  book  out 
under  the  trees,  ten  to  one  you'll  never  open 
it.  You'll  lie  looking  up  at  the  light  flicker- 
ing through  the  tree-tops  or  at  the  new  leaves, 
always  restless,  always  restful,  and  dream,  and 
be  perfectly  happy.  You'll  hear  the  birds 
call ;  and,  though  you  can't  tell  for  the  life  of 
you  (unless  you  belong  to  the  Bird  Club) 
whether  they  are  bobolinks  or  robins,  you'll 
feel  something  sweet  and  novel  set  a-going 
within  you.  You'll  gather  flowers,  the  early 
spring  ones,  which  you  will  call  impartially 
hepaticas,  to  the  scandal  of  your  room-mate 
who  once  studied  botany  and  hasn't  yet  re- 
covered from  it.  You  won't  write  poetry, — 
unless  the  Miscellany  editor  has  a  mortgage 
on  you, —  but  you'll  think  it  and  live  it  a 
little. 

If  you  are  a  Senior,  you  won't  waste  any 
of  the  precious  college  time  left  in  just  think- 
ing. You  will  foregather  with  two  or  three 
loved  friends,  and  talk,  and  talk,  and  talk. 
Books  a  little,  "criticism  of  life,"  well, 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       223 

maybe,  if  you  are  some  kinds  of  a  Senior, — 
but  chiefly,  and  with  unflagging  joy,  college 
gossip.  Field  Day,  the  games,  Founders, 
now  almost  here,  the  Senior  elections,  which 
don't  interest  you  greatly  and  which  are 
really  badly  managed,  the  way  the  class  has 
changed  since  Freshman  year,  the  new  self- 
government  rules,  the  reason  Sarah  Ralph 
got  her  honor  and  the  reason  Alice  Kaye 
didn't,  the  new  fellowships,  the  new  Gym 
floor. 

It's  kindly  gossip  now,  for  college  is  be- 
ginning to  encloud  itself  with  the  golden 
haze  through  which  it  is  to  shine  forever 
after  in  your  eyes.  Even  the  Faculty  are 
covered  with  the  mantle  of  charity.  They 
mean  well,  poor  dears,  and  are  worthy  souls 
in  the  main.  Prejudiced,  of  course,  and  apt 
to  err.  Who  is  not  ?  You  forgive  the  doc- 
tor for  not  cabling  your  family,  then  in  Eu- 
rope, the  night  you  nearly  died  with  ton- 
sillitis, though,  miraculously,  you  recovered 
in  time  for  Mohonk  two  days  later.  You 
even  speak  with  calmness  of  the  professor 
who  imbittered  your  young  life  with  bur- 


VASSAR  STORIES 

dens  grievous  and  heavy  to  bear.  As  for 
the  girls,  you  discuss  them  hours  on  end. 

All  this  makes  part  of  the  charm  of  the 
spring  and  the  first  game. 

How  good  the  old  Oval  looks  filled  up 
with  girls  once  more !  How  joyful  to  sit 
down  on  the  hardest  benches  man  ever  de- 
vised, in  a  sun  that  belongs  to  July  properly, 
and  gaze  on  the  teams  lying  in  the  shade  of 
the  hedge.  They  are  laughing  and  betting 
treats  at  Smith  on  the  game.  They'll  never 
be  that  way  again,  the  strain  will  grow  too 
sharp,  the  rivalry  too  fierce. 

You  pity  your  room-mate,  decorously 
seated  in  the  shade  with  her  mother,  while 
all  the  time  she  yearns  to  be  in  with  the  girls 
and  shout  and  sing.  You,  who  are  clad  in 
the  Vassar  uniform  of  golf  skirt  and  shirt 
waist,  regard  with  contempt  those  clothesome 
ones,  who,  "  variously  bedecked  and  be- 
devilled "  in  frilly,  ribbony  things,  sit  in  the 
shade  to  the  left.  Your  heart  softens,  how- 
ever, as  you  see  the  little  manager  of  your 
team,  flipping  about  in  a  train  several  inches 
longer  than  herself.  You  feel  the  bond  be- 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       225 

tween  the  old  and  new  as  you  never  did  at 
an  alumnae  meeting,  when  you  hear  the 
mother,  who  has  gray  hair  and  graduated  in 
'70,  say,  "  I  wish  I'd  had  a  chance  to  play 
basket  ball." 

The  girl  next  you  twitches  your  arm. 
Poor  Ruth  !  behold  her  skirting  the  edge  of 
things  with  a  man.  He  is  only  the  second 
most  interesting,  and  she  has  struggled  to 
foist  him  off  on  somebody,  anybody.  Men 
are  dear  and  desirable  beasties,  but,  oh  !  not 
at  Vassar.  If  they  would  only  be  more 
"  chirk,"  and  pluck  up  a  bit  of  spirit  while 
there;  but  they  wear  such  an  "oh-for-a- 
man-and-a-brother  "  expression.  There  is  a 
tale  of  a  man  who  left  his  hat  in  the  Senior 
parlor,  which  was  then  vacant.  When  he  re- 
turned, girls  had  entered  the  rooms,  myriads 
of  them.  They  blocked  the  door,  they  hov- 
ered over  the  hat,  concealed  beneath  a  table. 
He  reasoned  with  his  hostess,  and  he  pleaded 
with  her.  Then  he  went  home  without  the 
hat. 

Your  neighbor  is  beginning  a  man  tale 
bristling  with  <c  he  saids  "  and  "  I  saids  " — 
Hark  !  the  Freshmen  are  cheering, — 


226  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Green  but  vigorous, 
Superfine ' '  — 

and  the  Sophomores  answer, — 

"  We're  first-rate, 
We're  first-rate." 

Then  the  Juniors,  your  class,  begin  to  sing, 

"  Once  more  we'll  meet  them, 
Once  more  defeat  them, 
Passing  the  ball,  just  as  of  yore. 
Bartlett  will  dare  them, 
Lefflinwell  scare  them. 
How  in  the  world  did  you  find  that  out  ? 
Done  —  it  —  before. ' ' 

Nannie  Parkin  jumps  up  in  front  of  the 
benches.  Nannie's  voice,  she  says  herself, 
"  is  something  fierce." 

"  Now  then,  girls  !  " 

"Class  of  Ninety-blank,  just  gone  'long, 
Class  of  Ninety-blank,  just  gone  'long, 
Class  of  Ninety-blank,  just  gone  'long, 
A-cheerin'  for  its  team. 
Oh,  raise  up  your  voices  now, 
Raise  up  your  voices  now, 
And  cheer  right  lustily." 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       227 

Nannie's  voice  is  raised  till  the  surround- 
ing atmosphere  quivers. 

<c  Here  come  the  team.  Cheer  'em ! 
Now,  one,  two, —  keep  your  voices  down  like 
a  man's,  and  don't  shriek." 

"  Hikey  !  hikey  !  hurrah  !  , 
Ninety-blank!" 

In  spite  of  Nannie's  admonition  the  cheer 
is  pretty  shrill.  Just  as  much  loyalty  goes 
with  it  as  if  it  were  in  double-bass,  however. 

The  teams  are  out,  the  Seniors  in  blue 
and  red,  the  Juniors  in  blue  and  white. 
There's  Nell,  the  Junior  pitcher,  big  and 
slow,  but,  if  once  her  hands  get  on  the  ball, 
into  the  basket  it  goes.  There's  Adelaide, 
too,  springing  about  as  if  she  were  a  mass 
of  feathers.  And  Lou,  in  the  old  red  suit, 
that  is  the  team  mascot.  Look  at  Julia, 
banged  already.  She  has  the  worst  luck ! 
Last  year  she  broke  her  nose,  and  jumped 
up  shouting,  "  Come  on,  I've  only  blacked 
my  eye."  What's  the  matter  with  May  ? 
and  Jo  ?  and  Marion  ?  and  anybody  P 
They're  all  right.  The  spectators  are  tell- 


228  VASSAR  STORIES 

ing  each  other  so  as  fast  and  as  loud  as  they 
can.  The  classes  are  all  right,  too,  and  the 
college,  and  the  game,  and  even  the  profes- 
sor umpire,  chosen  for  his  placid  soul  and 
inability  to  be  bullied. 

The  umpire  throws  up  the  ball,  the  cap- 
tains jump  for  it,  the  sides  rush  forward,  the 
game  is  on.  Then  every  one  shouts  and 
cheers,  to  encourage  the  team  they  say, 
really  because  they  can't  keep  still.  One 
girl  calls  to  the  players  by  name.  She 
is  suppressed.  "  Don't  rattle  the  man  at 
the  bat."  Every  one  is  hot,  stiff,  stepped 
on  by  excited  friends,  mauled  by  the  players 
in  their  rush  for  the  ball,  and  gloriously 
happy. 

All  but  Betty  Blake.  She  is  miserable. 
That  is  all  wrong.  A  basket-ball  player  has 
no  right  to  any  emotion  save  devotion  to 
the  ball,  and  Betty  is  on  the  team.  She  is 
angry ;  not  passionately,  excitedly,  but  with 
a  kind  of  freezing  fury  that  makes  her  very 
body  cold.  She  has  been  so  since  two  weeks 
ago  to-morrow,  which  is  Sunday. 

Now    Sunday    is    an    unpopular    day    at 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       229 

Vassar.  Various  reasons  are  assigned  for 
this,  as  compulsory  church,  Sunday  night 
tea,  home  letters,  and  other  things  which 
never  happen  week-days.  It's  sufficient  ex- 
planation to  say  it  comes  after  Saturday  and 
before  Monday. 

This  particular  Sunday  Betty  had  begun 
to  scold  her  room-mate.  There  was  noth- 
ing new  about  that.  The  room-mate  was 
irritating  and  lovable,  a  not  unusual  com- 
bination among  Vassar  or  other  women. 
Betty  adored  her.  She  bore  with  her  with 
beautiful  resignation  twenty-nine  days  a 
month,  the  thirtieth  she  scolded  her  soundly. 
Janet,  that  was  the  room-mate,  accepted  the 
scolding  sweetly,  then  went  on  being  as 
irritating  as  before.  It  was  a  kind  of  bar- 
gain between  them.  This  Sunday  lecture 
was  only  two  weeks  removed  from  the  last 
going  over,  therefore  Janet  resented  it. 
They  fought,  decently  at  first,  afterwards 
not.  Betty,  blazing  and  stammering,  hurled 
insulting  accusations  at  Janet,  who,  white 
and  level-voiced,  replied  with  cruel  sarcasm. 
They  had  not  spoken  since. 


230  VASSAR  STORIES 

Once  in  the  dark,  when  Betty  lay  curled 
up  in  a  corner  of  the  couch,  Janet  had  stolen 
in  and  knelt  beside  her. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  she  had  whispered,  "  I 
was  most  to  blame,  I  am  sorry." 

Betty  had  stared  down  into  her  eyes,  very 
large  and  soft  in  the  twilight,  and  had  hated 
her  with  all  her  strength.  Janet  had  not 
tried  again. 

Betty  had  played  on  her  class  team  ever 
since  she  entered  college.  She  was  little 
and  light,  but  tremendously  quick  and 
plucky.  Janet,  belonging  to  the  class 
above,  though  the  strongest  girl  in  it,  had 
never  played  until  the  previous  fall,  and 
then  only  on  the  scrub.  This  was  her  first 
match.  The  girls  laughed  at  the  Senior- 
Junior  friendship,  "  wait  till  you  play  against 
one  another  in  the  games."  Betty  and 
Janet  had  grinned  at  one  another.  Now 
Betty's  one  thought  was  to  beat  Janet.  She 
hated  the  Senior  team  because  Janet  was  on 
it.  Some  way  it  was  always  Janet  and  she 
that  rushed  for  the  ball  at  the  same  time. 
When  the  umpire  plecided  for  her,  she  felt  a 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       231 

thrill  of  triumphant  hate  that  turned  her  hot 
all  over.  She  watched  Janet's  every  move- 
ment. Look  at  that  throw  !  and  how  steady 
Jan  was  in  passing !  Why,  she,  Betty, 
might  practise  ten  years  before  she  could 
crack  the  ball  — 

"Wake  up,  Betty  Blake  !  "  shouted  some 
one,  not  in  anger,  but  in  sorrow,  for  Betty 
usually  "  played  ball  from  the  ground  up," 
and  was  therefore  beloved. 

Betty  realized  that  for  one  golden  second 
the  ball  had  been  hers.  She  had  only 
stared  stupidly  at  it.  Janet  had  it  now  by 
the  Senior  goal.  Betty  joined  the  guards, 
who  were  leaping,  and  striking  at  the  air,  to 
catch  it  the  instant  it  left  Janet's  hands. 
Oh,  yes,  Jan  was  a  cool  one.  She  wasn't 
going  to  be  rattled  into  a  weak  throw  nor 
forced  to  hold  the  ball  over  time.  She 
tossed  it  and  caught  it  and  tossed  it  again. 
If  she  could  only  wrench  it  out  of  her  hands  ! 

"  O^h  !  "  every  one  was  calling  in  amazed 
protest.  Betty  knew  then  that  she  had 
sprung  upon  Janet  and  torn  the  ball  furi- 
ously from  her.  She  was  called  the  "whit- 


232  VASSAR  STORIES 

est "  player  on  the  Oval,  yet  she  had  done 
what  was  as  ridiculous  as  it  was  unfair.  She 
watched  the  try  for  goal  gained  on  her  foul 
with  something  like  murder  in  her  heart. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Betty?"  ran 
along  the  benches.  Betty  heard  it.  No  one 
answered,  "  She's  all  right."  They  only 
shrugged,  and  shook  their  heads. 

"  Keep  cool,  Bet,"  whispered  her  manager, 
as  the  teams  rested  between  innings,  "  Just 
play  like  you  used  to,  and  we'll  beat  the 
earth." 

"  You've  got  to  take  a  brace,  though ; 
you're  no  good  so  far,"  said  the  captain  with 
frankness. 

Betty  said  nothing.  She  looked  over  at 
Janet,  and  thought,  "  I'll  kill  her."  The 
thought  shocked  her  a  little,  not  much. 
Nothing  mattered  but  her  awful  anger. 

The  first  inning  had'  been  played  warily. 
Now  the  pace  was  furious.  Both  teams 
played  desperately  in  the  desire  to  score. 
Some  one  made  a  swift  throw  for  the  basket. 
The  ball  went  wild  in  among  the  benches. 
Three  girls  rushed  for  it,  heads  down,  Janet 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       233 

in  front.  The  bench  under  which  the  ball 
was  still  rolling  was  a  heavy  iron  one  from 
way  over  by  Music  Hall.  Its  sharp,  hard 
corner  projected  sideways  almost  like  a  spike. 
The  first  girl  to  plunge  under  it  would 
strike  it  with  immense  force,  that  of  her  own 
impetus  and  that  of  the  weight  of  the  two 
girls  behind.  Basket  ball  is  not  fraught  with 
perils  ;  as  a  rule,  a  big  bruise  or  a  lame  ankle 
being  the  usual  casualties.  But,  if  a  girl's 
head  met  that  iron,  something  was  going  to 
break. 

No  one  seemed  to  notice  the  bench. 
Betty  did.  She  stood  in  just  the  position, 
parallel  to  it,  to  see  its  projection.  Jan 
wouldn't  be  killed,  but  she'd  be  hurt,  and 
that  in  Jan's  case  was  as  bad.  For  Janet 
was  a  coward,  a  cry-baby,  a  muff.  She  wept 
and  shrieked  over  a  cut  or  a  burn.  She 
mourned  for  days  over  the  mere  memory 
of  past  suffering.  Betty,  brought  up  with, 
or  by,  boys  who  regarded  girls  as  on  a  par 
with  caterpillars,  had  been  forced  to  learn  the 
stoicism  of  a  red  Indian  in  order  to  be  even 
tolerated.  Her  friend's  weakness  scandal- 


234  VASSAR  STORIES 

ized  her.  She  concealed  it  as  she  would 
have  kleptomania.  Janet  was  ashamed  of 
it  herself.  Luck  and  an  extreme  canniness 
in  exposing  herself  to  danger  had  kept  her 
secret.  The  class  were  proud  of  her  as  a 
model  athlete,  strong,  cool,  and  brave.  Jan 
would  scream  and  tear  up  the  grass  and  dis- 
grace herself  generally.  The  Juniors  would 
pity  her.  Betty  could  not  endure  pity. 
The  Seniors  would  never  look  upon  her  in 
just  the  same  way  again.  Oh,  Fate  was 
bringing  a  sweet  revenge. 

All  that,  so  long  in  the  telling,  clicked 
through  Betty's  mind  in  a  flash.  Then 
something  older  than  her  hatred,  older  than 
that  dreary  Sunday,  older  even  than  her 
class  spirit,  hurled  her  in  sideways  between 
bench  and  girls.  Her  body  sprawled  out 
along  the  iron  frame  something  after  the 
manner  of  a  fender. 

The  three  girls  rose  at  once,  though  two 
of  them  would  have  preferred  to  remain  on 
the  ground  till  such  time  as  their  breath 
returned  unto  them.  Betty  sat  up.  She 
wasn't  at  all  pale,  and  she  smiled  cheerfully. 


AT  THE  FIRST  GAME       235 

This  was  really  rather  good  even  for  a  red 
Indian;  for  she  was  just  coming  out  of  the 
state  described  by  Kipling  as  "  having  left 
your  stomach  behind  you,"  and  was  enter- 
ing another  caused  by  the  two  knee  bones 
grinding  over  one  another  as  they  departed 
from  their  socket.  This  latter  sensation 
needs  to  be  experienced  to  be  appreciated. 
She  looked  around  for  Janet.  All  her  hatred 
seemed  gone ;  and  as  for  her  anger,  why, 
that  was  weeks  ago.  Jan  was  good  old  Jan, 
and  she  had  just  wadded  herself  in  between 
that  dear  old  tab  and  —  suppose  she  hadn't 
jumped  quick.  The  thought  made  her 
sicker  than  all  her  pain. 

"You  needn't  get  out  a  search  warrant 
for  broken  bones,  because  there  ain't  none," 
she  said  to  Janet,  who  was  feeling  her  with 
strong,  soft  hands.  "  I've  jagged  my  knee, 
that's  all." 

Helping  hands  bundled  the  invalid,  who 
had  been  wheeled  to  the  game,  out  on  a 
bench,  and  brought  the  infirmary  chair  up 
to  Betty.  She  remarked  in  crisp  tones  to 
the  girl  who  carelessly  banged  her  knee  on 


236  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  wheel,  "  I'll  bat  you  if  you  do  that 
again. "  This  showed  she  was  her  own  man 
once  more.  Janet  smiled  lovingly.  She 
didn't  look  deep  into  Betty's  eyes  nor  press 
her  hand,  because  she  wasn't  some  one  in  a 
book.  She  ran  back  to  the  team,  calling, 
"  See  you  in  the  infirmary  when  this  's  over. 
And  Betty  answered  with  the  old  fierce- 
ness dear  to  Janet's  heart,  "You  shan't! 
Get  rubbed  down,  and  go  to  bed." 


ON   BACCALAUREATE  SUNDAY 


On  Baccalaureate  Sunday 

BACCALAUREATE  Sunday  that  year 
was  a  beautiful  day.  The  air  was 
soft  and  warm,  sporty  little  breezes  frisked 
in  and  out  among  the  trees,  and  long, 
cool  shadows,  made  by  the  far-off  June 
clouds,  lay  over  the  campus.  The  trees 
were  white,  pink,  and  palest  yellow  with 
blossoms,  which  smelled  sweet  as  far  as  you 
could  see  them.  Little,  late  violets  pied 
with  purple  the  deep  green  of  the  Oval. 
The  campus  stretching  out  beyond  Strong 
to  the  Pines  was  white  with  daisies.  All 
the  prim  little  flower-beds  which  Henry, 
the  college  gardener,  minds  so  carefully,  had 
bloomed  out  with  a  brave  array  of  pansies, 
roses,  and  lilies.  Birds  called  to  one  another 
in  shy  voices,  and  butterflies  drifted  dreamily 
about. 

Every  one  who  could  was  out  doors,  and 
on     Baccalaureate    Sunday    that    means    all 


240  VASSAR  STORIES 

College.  It  is  the  last  Sunday  that  year  for 
the  underclassmen,  therefore  they  wish  to 
make  the  most  of  it.  But  for  the  Seniors 
it  is  the  very  last  day  of  College ;  they  cling 
to  it  lovingly,  pathetically.  For  to-morrow 
will  come  flooding  in  the  hordes  of  mothers, 
sisters,  brothers,  and  an  occasional  bored 
father  to  take  possession  of  the  college 
and  the  collegians.  Vassar  Commencement 
week  is  pretty  and  interesting  to  the  old 
grads.,  but  it  is  not  home.  The  holiday  air, 
the  many  strangers,  the  alumnae  of  other, 
far-back  classes,  even  the  girls  themselves 
in  an  unceasing  condition  of  good  clothes 
and  good  manners,  make  it  a  different  place 
to  those  who  love  it  best  as  it  is  every  day 
for  nine  months  in  the  year, —  noisy,  rushing, 
busy,  absorbed  in  itself,  and  heedless  of  the 
outside  world. 

Ninety-blank  in  its  youth  had  been  rent 
by  schisms,  over  its  three  candidates  for 
class  presidents,  its  inability  to  get  every- 
body to  mutiny  at  the  same  time  against 
the  Powers,  and  other  weighty  matters.  But 
it  had  been  welded  together  by  pressure 


On  the  way  to  the  Circle 


Watching  the  Basket-ball  Game 


BACCALAUREATE  241 

from  without ;  for  the  other  classes  con- 
sidered it  unduly  pleased  with  itself,  and  the 
Faculty  objected  to  its  attitude  of  "have  yez 
a  governmint?  thin  I'm  agin  ut."  All  of 
which  rejoiced  Ninety-blank,  who  dreaded 
naught  but  indifference.  Now  not  even  the 
scars  of  the  old  wounds  remained,  the  class 
was  at  one,  united  on  the  common  ground 
of  love  for  itself  as  the  brightest,  most  in- 
dependent, most  original  class  that  ever 
entered  College.  It  dated  a  decided  change 
in  College  life  from  its  arrival,  and  spoke  of 
itself,  in  the  unabashed  frankness  natural  to 
it,  as  the  bridge  between  the  old  order  and 
the  new.  Other  classes  have  thought  the 
same,  and  in  a  sense  it  is  true  of  each.  All 
the  spring  the  girls  had  been  seeing  as  much 
of  one  another  as  they  could,  against  the 
time  when  the  hard  separation  would  come. 
This  Sunday  groups  of  threes,  fours,  and 
fives,  were  starting  out  in  all  directions, 
some  for  a  last  walk  up  the  shady  road  past 
the  Farms,  some  to  cut  'cross  country  to 
Sunrise  Hill,  or  the  queer  slope  somewhere 
over  by  the  Fair  Grounds,  others  to  lie  on 


242  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  grass  back  of  the  Observatory,  or  in  the 
shady  nooks  near  the  Gym.  Their  arms 
were  around  one  another's  shoulders.  They 
were  talking  and  laughing  as  carelessly  as  if 
College  had  just  begun  for  them.  Each  girl 
realized,  with  a  faltering  heart,  that  before 
her  lay  Class  Supper,  the  happiest,  the  sad- 
dest night  in  her  College  life,  and  the  un- 
lightened  gloom  of  "pack-up  Thursday," 
but  each  girl  had  resolved  to  pretend  just 
one  day  longer  that  the  joy  of  College 
wasn't  all  over  forever. 

Early  in  the  spring  the  talk  had  been 
chiefly  of  "jobs"  for  next  year.  Rich  and 
poor  alike  were  fired  to  enter  upon  some 
gainful  pursuit.  At  one  time  it  seemed  as  if 
all  Ninety-blank  wished  to  teach  the  young. 
Knots  of  girls  gathered  in  the  corridors  dis- 
cussing the  relative  virtues  of  Fisk's  Agency 
or  Mrs.  Young-Fulton's,  and  on  entering  a 
Senior's  room  the  visitor  would  be  greeted 
by,  "  Say,  do  you  think  six  hundred  dollars, 
and  board  in  the  school,  is  good  ?  "  "  If  you 
were  I,  would  you  dare  attempt  to  teach  three 
subjects  you  don't  know  a  word  about  ? " 


BACCALAUREATE  243 

Now  each  girl  had  either  obtained  the  desire 
of  her  heart  or  was  waiting  till  fall  to  make 
another  try  at  it.  The  question  of  a  career 
troubled  the  air  no  more.  Friends  were 
making  mutual  plans  for  the  summer  and 
consoling  one  another  with  promises  of  let- 
ters, those  miserable  makeshifts  for  daily 
companionship.  Those  who  lived  in  the 
same  State  were  rejoicing  that  some  Vas- 
sarites  would  be  near  them  with  whom  they 
could  have  miniature  class  reunions  once  in  a 
while.  Those  who  lived  in  remote  and  in- 
accessible regions  were  bewailing,  like  Sally 
Dean,  "  There  isn't  a  blamed  girl  within  a 
thousand  miles  of  me." 

Dearest  of  all  to  the  class  this  last  day 
were  the  reminiscences  of  its  past.  The  girls 
repeated  to  one  another  the  old  jokes,  laughed 
at  first  in  Freshman  year,  the  old  passwords, 
and  the  dear  old  stories.  They  grew  inco- 
herent with  laughter  over  recollections  of  the 
night  they  broke  up  the  Senior  Howl  with  a 
larger  and  squarer  one  of  their  own ;  over 
their  Tree  Ceremonies  and  the  cc  ball  "  that 
followed  ;  over  Junior  year  at  Strong,  when 


244  VASSAR  STORIES 

the  foundations  of  the  building  and  of  Self- 
Government  were  visibly  affected ;  over  the 
spread  at  Mrs.  McGlynn's  after  they  won 
the  championship  in  basket  ball.  They  re- 
counted to  one  another,  with  tears  of  joy, 
their  sufferings  Sophomore  year  over  "  oral 
quizzes  "  endured  with  only  one  other  vic- 
tim, their  toils  over  the  series  of  maps  which 
were  supposed  to  illumine  for  them  the  dark- 
ness of  mediaeval  history,  their  shame,  at  the 
end  of  the  Sophomore  Mid-years,  when,  in 
obedience  to  a  summons,  they  slunk  stealth- 
ily down  to  Room  79,  and  their  amazement 
when  they  saw  in  the  corridor  outside  sixty 
other  girls  likewise  abashed  and  furtive.  An 
outsider  would  not  have  understood  nor  been 
amused.  But  they  loved  it  all  with  their 
whole  hearts.  Then,  when  their  breath 
failed,  they  would  take  hold  of  one  another 
hard  with  a  sudden  chill  realization  that  it 
was  all  over  now,  the  work  and  the  fun,  the 
happy-go-lucky,  free,  careless,  warm  life  of 
College.  Oh,  yes,  there  were  cc  gude  times  " 
coming,  they  knew,  but  they  would  not  be 
College  ones.  They  would  be  dignified. 


BACCALAUREATE  245 

sensible  women  of  the  outside  world,  in  a 
little  house  in  a  little  corner  of  that  world 
somewhere ;  and  gone  forever  would  be  the 
dear  old  tribal  life  with  its  all  things  in  com- 
mon, from  ideas  to  umbrellas,  its  intense 
happiness  and  its  woes  so  overwhelmingly 
great  that  they  were  almost  a  kind  of  pleas- 
ure, its  hail-fellow-well-met  acquaintances, 
and  its  close,  enduring  friendships.  "A 
woman  may  be  an  angel  some  time,  but  she 
can  never  be  a  girl  again."  And  girlhood  at 
Vassar  is  such  a  gift ! 

Kate  Holabush  sat  on  one  of  the  seats 
under  the  pines  which  border  the  walk  past 
the  Gym.  On  this  day  of  universal  com- 
panionship she  was  alone.  There  was  no 
one  she  wished  especially  to  be  with,  nor 
any  one,  she  knew,  who  wished  to  be  with 
her.  Like  the  Miller  of  the  Dee,  she  cared 
for  nobody,  no,  not  she,  and  nobody  cared 
for  her.  Which,  when  you  think  of  it,  is 
about  as  sad  a  state  of  things  as  can  be, 
only  Kate  had  never  looked  at  it  that  way. 
She  was  not  one  of  those  drab  persons 
whom  no  one  likes  because  no  one  ever 


246  VASSAR  STORIES 

really  distinguishes  them  from  the  surround- 
ing atmosphere.  Kate  was  the  sort  that  is 
felt  the  moment  it  enters  the  room.  She 
had  a  fine  mind,  a  lively  wit,  and  a  pretty 
face.  Moreover,  she  could  do  a  great  many 
things, —  sing,  sketch,  play  the  guitar,  act, 
write  dainty  verse  and  readable  prose  —  ex- 
tremely well,  was  always  artistically  dressed, 
and  had  the  graceful  manner  of  a  woman 
used  to  the  world. 

She  had  entered  College  under  disadvan- 
tages. She  was  a  Special  until  the  middle 
of  her  second  year,  when  she  joined  the 
Sophomores.  The  class  never  took  her  to 
itself  as  one  of  "  us."  She  was  unfortunate, 
too,  in  living  in  one  of  the  cottages  across 
the  Lake  where  she  was  the  only  boarder. 
When  she  came  over  to  the  College,  she 
lived  in  a  single.  Yet  it  was  more  than  the 
ill-luck  of  those  early  years,  hard  to  over- 
come as  that  is,  that  made  Kate  absolutely 
friendless. 

Some  said  it  was  because  they  did  not  like 
her  habit  of  ridiculing  everything  and  every- 
body, nor  the  little  sarcastic  smile  which  she 


BACCALAUREATE  247 

always  wore  when  talking.  Others  thought 
her  hard  and  cold-natured,  still  others  that 
she  was  "  fast,"  in  desire  they  must  have 
meant,  for  at  Vassar  no  girl  is  fast  in  act. 
She  cannot  be.  There  is  no  chance.  Most 
of  them,  however,  merely  shrugged  and  said, 

cc  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  just  don't  like 
her,  that's  all." 

Kate  never  troubled  herself  to  find  out 
the  reason.  She  knew  she  was  disliked,  and 
she  had  no  rosy  illusions  about  being  a 
misunderstood  genius  or  a  spirit  too  delicate 
for  the  crowd.  She  rather  looked  down  on 
the  girls,  as  crude  and  immature,  and  sup- 
posed that  they  resented  the  attitude.  She 
was  fond  of  quoting  Stevenson  when  she 
saw  them  ramping  with  excitement  over 
some  College  affair  or  deep  in  woe  for  a 
small  cause,  "  Youth  was  a  great  time,  but 
somewhat  fussy."  "  Naturally,"  she  thought, 
"  they  don't  like  me." 

She  was  not  lonely :  she  had  too  much  to 
do.  Her  work  interested  her,  and  she  spent 
a  good  deal  of  time  on  it.  The  unresting 
Miscellany  and  Vassarion  editors  claimed  her 


248  VASSAR  STORIES 

for  stones  and  illustrations.  She  also  wrote 
for  the  papers  often  and  for  some  of  the 
less  known  magazines.  Her  cleverness  made 
people  want  her  for  Hall  Plays,  Phil,  com- 
mittees, and  Chapter  Cup  competitions. 
She  was  always  invited  to  the  big  spreads 
and  formal  teas.  These  things  took  the 
place,  with  Kate  Holabush,  of  friends. 

So  she  felt  no  envy  as  she  watched  the 
girls  go  swinging  by  together.  She  didn't 
want  to  link  arms  with  Sarah  Ralph,  and 
Molly  Omstead,  and  Barbara  Sterling. 
Sarah  was  wearisomely  intense.  She  talked 
about  "  subjectivity "  and  "  objectivity," 
"  mentality  "  and  "  physicality,"  topics  which 
bored  Kate.  Molly  was  decidedly  amateur 
yet  in  her  efforts  to  think.  Barbara  was 
unbearable  with  her  lack  of  humor  and  her 
ever  present  morals. 

The  girls  greeted  her  as  they  passed. 
Two  of  them,  moved  by  the  new  feeling  of 
kinship,  stopped  to  talk.  They  even  asked 
her  to  walk  with  them,  up  through  the  Pines, 
behind  the  bridge.  Kate  did  not  go. 

Left    to  herself,  she   pulled    a  letter    out 


BACCALAUREATE  249 

from  between  the  leaves  of  the  book  she  had 
been  making  a  pretence  of  reading.  Two 
little  lines  came  between  her  eyes,  and  she 
poked  the  ground  with  the  toe  of  her  shoe. 
The  letter  was  from  the  editor  of  a  paper  in 
an  Eastern  city,  who  had  often  published 
her  articles,  offering  her  a  position.  The 
paper  was  called  a  literary  one,  but  its  sale 
was  due  to  the  society  gossip  which  filled  its 
columns.  This  latter  was  always  imperti- 
nent, often  scandalous.  She  was  asked  to 
be  the  editor  of  this  department,  the  gatherer 
up  and  putter  into  amusing  form  of  all  the 
little  intimate  news  of  the  place, —  the  shadier, 
the  better.  She  had  a  cousin  on  the  paper. 
He  had  suggested  her  to  take  the  place  of 
the  former  editor,  because,  as  she  was  in- 
formed, her  youth  and  personal  appearance 
would  make  it  possible  for  her  to  go  to 
many  places  closed  against  a  less  attractive 
reporter,  and  thus  to  gain  more  news. 

It  was  not  a  nice  position.  Kate  winced 
as  she  thought  of  pushing  herself  in  among 
perfect  strangers  to  find  out  their  private 
affairs,  and  then  writing  them  up  in  a  cheap, 


250  VASSAR  STORIES 

newspaper  style.  She  had  dreamed  of  quite 
a  different  life  when  she  was  out  of  college. 
But  it  was  a  chance  to  be  in  a  city  that  pos- 
sessed many  of  what  people  call  "attractions." 
She  could  go  to  concerts,  lectures,  the 
theatre,  she  would  have  time  to  keep  up  her 
other  writing  and  the  studying  she  enjoyed. 
Most  important  of  all,  the  salary  was  large, 
immense  it  seemed  in  Kate's  eyes. 

If  any  of  the  girls  had  stopped  to  think 
about  it,  they  would  have  said  that  Kate 
Holabush  was  rich.  Her  room,  her  way  of 
dressing,  her  lavishness  with  money,  her 
ease  with  all  the  elegancies  of  living,  seemed 
to  prove  this. 

Really,  Kate  was  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
lawyer  in  some  out-of-the-way  town.  She 
had  come  to  college  on  a  little  legacy  left 
her  by  her  grandfather.  Her  work  for  the 
magazines,  skill  in  making  a  little  money  go 
a  long  way,  and  a  winter  in  New  York  with 
a  gay  aunt,  accounted  for  the  rest.  She 
neither  would  nor  could  depend  on  her  par- 
ents after  leaving  college,  there  were  younger 
sisters  who  must  be  educated.  She  was  wise 


BACCALAUREATE  251 

enough  to  know  that  the  success  as  a  writer 
which  buys  pretty  gowns  at  Vassar  is  never- 
theless not  great  enough  to  pay  all  one's 
bills  outside  of  college.  What  could  she 
do  ?  Teach  ?  She  could  have  a  place  in 
a  public  school.  She  had  no  wish  to  feed 
childish  minds  and  see  them  grow,  and  the 
yards  of  red  tape  which  she  knew  she  must 
unroll  every  day  in  such  work  made  her 
shiver.  She  could  help  her  father  in  his 
office.  She  hated  the  dull  little  town  and  all 
its  wearisome  inhabitants. 

Here  was  her  chance  to  escape  drudgery 
and  make  a  fortune,  quick.  What  if  it  were 
a  rather  shabby  sort  of  position  ?  Greater 
minds  than  hers  had  stooped  lower.  It  was 
a  good  push  up.  Her  work  there  would 
count  with  other  editors.  She  would  save 
her  salary  and  start  out  for  something  better 
in  a  year  or  two.  She  need  never  think  of 
this  mean  position  the  minute  she  was  out 
of  it.  She  could 

"  Rise  by  its  aid 

And  its  aid  disown." 


252  VASSAR  STORIES 

She  had  until  the  end  of  the  week  to  \ink 
it  over.  Her  decision  was  made  now. 

The  sun  began  to  shine  in  on  her  through 
the  trees.  She  left  the  bench.  The  shad- 
ows over  by  the  Observatory  looked  pleas- 
ant. She  walked  toward  them,  trailing  her 
light  gown  over  the  grass.  She  stopped  for 
an  instant  to  watch  a  party  of  girls  coming 
down  the  path  and  held  back  the  bough  of 
a  fir-tree  to  see  them  better.  Her  tall,  slim 
figure  in  its  faint  green  draperies  defined 
against  the  darkness  of  the  firs  made  a 
charming  little  picture.  It  might  have  been 
another  of  Christina  Emmet  Sherwood's 
"  Ladies  in  Green."  A  puffy  old  gentleman, 
passing,  saw  her,  and  exclaimed  to  his  com- 
panion, "  A  sweet  girl-graduate/' 

Kate  heard  him.  "  Sweet  girl-graduate  !  " 
she  murmured  with  angry  contempt  for  the 
ridiculous,  hackneyed  expression.  "  Why 
are  Such  allowed  to  exist?" 

If  the  worthy  old  gentleman  could  have 
seen  her  face  as  she  spoke,  he  would  have 
taken  back  his  opinion  with  speed. 

Kate  continued    slowly  across    the   grass. 


BACCALAUREATE  253 

She  failed  to  notice,  until  full  upon  them,  a 
clump  of  girls  stretched  out  under  the  trees. 

"Hello,  Kate  Holabush,"  called  one, 
"come  play  with  us." 

To  her  surprise,  and  she  could  see  to 
theirs,  as  well,  Kate  sat  down. 

"  Have  a  pillow,"  said  Sally  Dean,  push- 
ing one  toward  her.  "  We're  talking  about 
careers,  who  in  the  school  we  think  will  have 
them." 

"Who  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  Janet  Pom- 
eroy. 

Kate  laughed,  "I  —  " 

"  You  can't  tell  a  thing  about  it,"  broke 
in  Betty  Blake.  "  My  sister  says  the  gen- 
iuses of  her  class,  the  ones  everybody  ex- 
pected would  astonish  the  world,  never  did 
a  blessed  thing  but  get  married." 

"Yes,  and  some  mouse  of  a  girl  that 
never  opens  her  mouth  in  class  or  anywhere 
else  will  do  some  great  stunt,"  said  Sarah 
Ralph. 

"  All  the  same  I  believe  Arna  Kellar  will 
be  something  unusual,"  said  Janet. 

"  Will  be  !     She  is  now,"  said  Sarah. 


254  VASSAR  STORIES 

"  Our  class  are  going  to  do  queer,  interest- 
ing things/'  said  Sally  quickly  to  turn  the 
talk  from  Arna,  whose  experience  was  apt  to 
provoke  discussion. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  sirs,  its  a  terrible  re- 
sponse, as  our  gardener  says,  to  be  Vassar 
College's  keeper,"  said  Sarah  solemnly. 
"You  know  what  I  mean.  To  think  you 
stand  for  the  higher  education  of  women  as 
Vassar  recognizes  it." 

"  Sarah  !  "  cried  Betty,  "  never,  never  did 
I  think  I'd  hear  you  use  that  loathsome 
expression, ( the  higher  education  of  women  ' ! 
It  sounds  like — oh,  nobody  must  ever  say 
it.  It  brands  a  person  if  she  does." 

"  Isn't  it  absurd  and  old-fashioned ! " 
agreed  Sally.  "  But  all  the  same  I  know 
just  what  Sarah  means.  Oh,  the  woes  I 
suffer  for  college  when  I'm  home.  I  live  in 
a  town  where  not  one  man  in  a  hundred 
goes  to  college,  and  I,  even  I,  am  the  only 
girl  that's  ever  been.  The  people  act  and 
talk  as  if  I  were  some  kind  of  a  strange  fowl, 
like  Dr.  Holmes's  Huma.  They  send  over 
to  ask  me  how  to  pronounce  new  words, 


BACCALAUREATE  255 

and  whether  they  should  say  £  nayther,  me 
wages  is  low/  after  the  manner  of  the  Irish- 
man in  my  fondly  loved,  if  ancient,  tale.  I 
don't  know  if  they  really  do  have  such  a  re- 
spect for  my  supposed  learning  or  if  they 
just  think  they  have  to  pretend  to.  Last 
summer  one  of  them  introduced  me  to  a 
whole  porchful  of  strangers  as  c  my  friend, 
Miss  Dean,  from  Vassar.'  Imagine  any  one 
introducing  my  brother  as  c  Mr.  Dean  from 
Yale/  There  was  a  woman  present,  too, 
who  has  forgotten  more  than  I'll  ever  know. 
She  probably  thought  me  a  regular  want-wit 
that  believed  four  years  in  college  equalled 
brains,  and  cultivation  and  travel,  and  —  " 

"  Come  live  with  me,  dear,  if  you're 
troubled  that  way,"  said  Janet  as  Sally's 
breath  seemed  to  run  out.  "  No  girl  my 
friends  ever  knew  has  been  to  college  ex- 
cept myself.  But  they  don't  look  upon  me 
as  any  marvel.  They  and  their  sisters,  and 
their  daughters,  have  all  had  three  or  four 
years'  travel  in  Europe  with  governesses, 
lessons  with  masters,  private  lectures,  etc. 
They  regard  college  as  excellent  for  girls 


256  VASSAR  STORIES 

who  have  to  be  teachers,  or  for  those  who 
have  no  opportunities  of  any  kind  at  home. 
But  for  others  !  —  My  family  think  it's  a  kind 
of  bear-garden.  They  watch  me  to  see  me 
grip  my  meat  firmly  in  my  hands,  and  I 
know  it's  a  surprise  every  time  they  observe 
me  come  downstairs,  they  look  for  my  de- 
scent via  the  banisters." 

"  Well !  if  they  are  your  family,  they're 
very  narrow-minded ! "  cried  Sarah,  voicing 
the  general  rage  at  this  unheard  of  view  of 
women's  colleges. 

Janet  laughed.  "  I  just  wanted  you  to 
see  the  responsibility  I  have  to  college.  I 
not  only  have  to  live  up  to  a  high  standard, 
as  Sally  does,  but  I  have  to  hold  up  the 
standard  besides." 

"  I  wish,"  it  was  the  slow  voice  of  Molly 
Omstead,  "  I  could  do  something  for  college. 
I'm  proud  of  it.  I  think  it's  great  even  if 
your  New  Yorkers  don't,  Jan.,  and  I  wish 
I  could  make  it  say  cgood  girl,  Molly/ 
about  me.  But  I'm  so  awful  ordinary  !  I 
can't  do  anything.  Much  as  ever  I  got 
through  my  Senior  Finals.  I  want  to  do 
something,  if  I  only  could  !  " 


BACCALAUREATE  257 

"  Start  a  school  of  athletics  for  women  in 
Oakland,"  said  Sally. 

u  No,  start  a  Woman's  Exchange,"  said 
Norma  Willett,  a  quiet  girl  who  never  said 
much,  "  where  you  tote  cakes  from  Mrs. 
McGlynn's,  bring  huge  bundles  from  town, 
sit  up  all  night  with  quiddly  girls,  make 
everybody's  bed,  wash  all  the  dishes  from 
your  neighbors'  spreads,  and  do  little  things 
like  that  for  nothing." 

The  others  all  smiled  at  Molly.  Kate 
thought,  with  a  sudden  odd  little  feeling, 
that  no  girl,  not  even  her  sisters,  had  ever 
looked  at  her  just  that  way. 

"  I  tell  you,"  went  on  Molly  as  if  she  had 
been  disputed,  "  I  just  love  old  Vassar." 

cc  I  do  honestly  think  that  every  woman 
who  is  trying  to  be  broader-minded,  and 
higher-idealed,  and  sweeter-lived  is  on  trial, 
not  only  for  herself,  but  for  her  theories. 
So  is  every  man.  We  do  represent  Vassar's 
ideals.  We  don't  stand  or  fall  for  ourselves 
any  more,  but  for  it.  It  —  it  —  frightens  me, 
but  I'm  glad,  too.  I  hope  I  won't  disgrace 
it."  Janet  paused,  a  little  red  in  the  face. 


258  VASSAR  STORIES 

She  had  followed  Stevenson's  advice,  "  When 
you  are  ashamed  to  speak,  always  speak." 

No  one  answered.  They  were  all  think- 
ing with  Janet,  but  had  not  her  courage. 
The  sudden  onslaught  of  a  girl  calling, 

"  Janet  Pomeroy  !  Betty  !  Sally  !  some- 
one is  in  the  parlor  to  see  you,"  was  wel- 
come. 

"  It's  my  family  !  " 

"And  my  sisters." 

"  And  my  brother." 

The  others  jumped  up,  too,  to  find  out 
if  any  of  their  guests  had  come  on  the  same 
train.  Only  Molly  stayed  behind  with 
Kate.  The  former  lay  on  her  back,  looking 
up  at  the  sky.  She  rolled  over  suddenly 
and,  propping  her  chin  in  her  hands,  said, 
quickly  and  shyly, 

4C I  want  to  tell  you.  When  they  were  all 
talking  about  the  girls  who .  are  going  to 
succeed  and  make  the  college  proud,  I 
thought  of  you,  right  off.  You're  so 
talented  and  energetic  and —  Oh,  I  know 
you'll  do  a  big  thing  all  right.  I  want  to 
congratulate  you  beforehand, —  and  Col- 
lege." 


BACCALAUREATE  259 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Kate.  She  could  not, 
for  once  in  her  life,  think  of  any  neat  and 
appropriate  reply.  Molly's  candid  gray  eyes 
disconcerted  her  as  much  as  the  speech  sur- 
prised her. 

"  1  wanted  to  tell  you,"  repeated  the  other 
with  boyish  awkwardness.  "  Guess  I'll  take 
a  tramp  now,  good-bye/'  She  started  off 
with  the  abruptness  startling  to  non- 
Vassarites. 

Kate  sat  and  thought.  This  idea  of 
obligation  and  responsibility  to  College  was 
new  to  her.  Molly  had  focussed  it  from  the 
general  to  the  particular,  too.  Probably  in 
every  boy's  life  there  is  a  moment  when  he 
first  feels  the  stir  of  that  illogical  emotion 
known  as  patriotism.  Kate  was  recognizing 
the  existence  of  what  is  a  sort  of  patriotism. 
If  she  did  not  experience  the  emotion  her- 
self, at  least  she  had  become  aware  of  it  in 
others. 

That  night,  as  she  sat  in  the  darkened 
chapel  listening  to  the  organ  recital,  the 
conversation  of  the  afternoon  came  back  to 
her,  intensified  in  force  because  all  wound 


26o  VASSAR  STORIES 

about  with  music.  She  had  talent,  un- 
doubtedly, a  little  at  any  rate.  She  could  do 
something  not  unworthy  what  Janet  had 
called  Vassar  ideals.  Her  position  as  news- 
monger for  a  third-rate  paper  !  That  was  a 
work  any  college  should,  be  proud  to  have 
its  graduates  enter,  truly !  Doubtless  she 
would  be  pointed  out  next  year  as  a  noble 
illustration  of  what  Vassar  could  accomplish ! 
Fot  fully  a  minute  Kate  felt  hot  with  shame 
that  was  not'all  for  herself.  Then  she  forgot 
all  about  it  in  listening  to  a  favorite  largo. 
Yet  just  then  college  loyalty  was  born  within 
her.  Tiny  as  the  least  of  all  seeds  it  was, 
but  there  none  the  less. 

It  was  a  "  persistent  cat,"  that  conversa- 
tion. Kate  thought  of  it  the  next  day  when 
her  guests,  troops  of  relatives  invited  with 
the  expectation  that  they  would  refuse,  but 
who  had  accepted  instead,  and  friends  of  her 
year  in  New  York,  began  to  arrive.  Even 
the  labor  of  reconciling  the  elderly  ones  to 
the  extraordinary  lodgings  provided  for  them 
in  out-of-the-way  cottages,  and  of  showing 
the  younger  ones  the  sights,  did  not  wholly 
distract  her. 


BACCALAUREATE  261 

Commencement  week  is  a  rush  from 
Monday  morning,  when  people  begin  to 
appear,  to  Thursday  afternoon,  when  you 
sink  a  tearful,  lifeless  wreck  in  the  train 
which  is  to  take  you  home. 

Kate  had  more  of  the  excitement  and  life 
than  most  of  the  others.  Besides  her  guests, 
among  whom  were  a  couple  of  exceedingly 
likable  young  men,  she  was  to  play  at  the 
concert  Monday  night,  attend  the  Alumnae 
luncheon  Tuesday  in  virtue  of  her  position 
as  president  of  a  club,  be  one  of  the  two 
class  historians  Tuesday  at  the  Class  Day 
exercises,  and  sing  Commencement  between 
two  of  the  speeches,  to  relieve  the  strain  on 
the  parents,  who  are  not  accustomed  to  con- 
sider Colonial  Expansion,  the  Poetry  of 
Thucydides,  the  Function  of  the  Novel, 
and  the  Relation  of  Mathematics  to  Life,  all 
in  one  morning. 

Kate  was  perfectly  cool  as  she  walked  in 
the  long,  gay  procession  winding  out  of 
Main  around  the  campus  to  the  platform  in 
front  of  the  great  semicircle  laid  out  in  the 
shadow  of  Chapel.  She  had  spent  weeks  on 


262  VASSAR  STORIES 

her  speech.  She  knew  it  by  heart,  she  had 
repeated  it  over  so  many,  many  times  that  it 
ran  of  itself.  Kate  was  not  the  sort  of  girl 
to  be  stage-struck,  either.  The  class  had 
pronounced  unqualified  praise  on  her  gown, 
which  was  all  lace  and  ribbons  and  graceful 
folds  and  soft  color  effects. 

Her  election  to  this  place  was  one  of  the 
many  acts  of  Ninety-blank  which  showed  its 
devotion  to  its  honor  and  fame.  Betty 
Blake  was  much  more  beloved,  so  was  Janet 
Pomeroy,  than  either  Kate  or  the  other 
historian.  But  the  class  knew  those  two 
were  the  ones  to  do  it  most  credit,  and  so 
their  election  had  been  unanimous.  Kate 
had  determined  to  exceed  even  its  expecta- 
tion of  her. 

When,  as  her  cultivated,  distinct  voice 
went  on,  she  saw  both  the  old  classes  present, 
too  remote  in  time  to  be  interested  in 
Ninety-blank,  and  the  new  ones,  so  near 
that  they  were  hostile,  begin  to  laugh  and 
clap  enthusiastically,  she  felt  that  delicious 
thrill  which  is  the  reward  of  none  save  the 
public  speaker.  She  had  looked  forward  to 


BACCALAUREATE  263 

it.  Yet  it  was  so  different  from  all  her  other 
former  appearances  had  produced  in  her. 
She  found  herself  thinking  even  as  she 
talked. 

"  Oh,  now,  you  see  Ninety-blank  can  do 
something  besides  make  a  noise  and  win 
championships." 

This  was  surely  queer  for  Kate. 

She  paused  an  instant  at  the  end  of  her 
speech.  All  the  audience  was  laughing  and 
applauding  now.  She  could  see  mothers 
who  knew  little  of  college,  and  fathers  who 
cared  less,  beaming  and  pounding.  Girls 
and  men  from  other  colleges,  and  those  from 
none,  nodded  and  fanned  with  enjoyment. 
She  had  achieved  a  triumph,  a  college  speech 
which  appealed  to  the  outside  world.  She 
heard  a  man  close  to  the  platform  say, 

"  Mighty  clever,  that !  " 

Kate  wanted  to  lean  over  to  him  and  cry, 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  thing  Vassar  College 
does  for  a  girl.  Do  you  wonder  we're  proud 
of  her?" 

But  Kate  had  never  been  proud  of  her  till 
that  minute.  The  four  steps  backward  from 


264  VASSAR  STORIES 

her  position  to  her  seat  in  the  ranks  made 
a  patriot  out  of  an  alien.  She  enjoyed  the 
evening's  reception  immensely.  It  is  a 
monstrosity  of  a  girl  who  does  not  like  to 
have  clever  people  seek  her  out  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  to  tell  her  that  she  has  been 
witty,  and  interesting,  and  altogether  charm- 
ing. With  Kate  this  praise  had  the  effect 
of  a  tribute  to  her  virtue.  Had  she  not 
shown  college  in  a  good  light  ? 

Commencement  was  over.  So  was  the 
Class  Supper,  nearly.  The  flowers  that 
filled  Strong  dining-room  were  beginning 
to  fade,  the  pink-shaded  candles  on  the 
long  table  flickered  uncertainly.  Every  one 
had  laughed  and  cheered  and  sung  through- 
out the  whole  feast.  Now  the  toasts  were 
over,  the  girls  were  up  for  the  last  songs, 
the  class  one  and  Alma  Mater.  Each  girl 
crossed  hands,  her  left  hand  to  her  right 
neighbor,  her  right  to  her  left.  Then  they 
all  swung  back  and  forth  in  one  great  circle, 
and  sang  till  the  walls  echoed.  There  are  a 
great  many  verses  to  the  class  song.  Some- 
way, as  the  fifth  and  sixth  were  sung,  the 


BACCALAUREATE  265 

volume  of  sound  grew  fainter  and  lower. 
Only  a  few  voices  took  up  Alma  Mater,  and 
those  failed  pitifully  at  the  end. 

•"  Now,  then,  let's  cheer  our  president,'* 
cried  the  toastmaster  huskily. 

Everybody  looked  at  the  little  president, 
whose  face  was  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  a 
great  bunch  of  roses  she  had  just  raised. 
The  sight  of  her  rallied  the  class.  It 
cheered  as  of  old. 

"  Now,  the  College,"  said  the  president. 
The  roses  shook  in  her  hand.  Every  one 
cheered. 

"  Now,  Ninety-blank,  God  bless  it !  " 

No  sound  followed.  The  circle  broke. 
Some  of  the  girls  dropped  into  the  chairs, 
put  their  heads  down  on  the  table,  and  cried 
openly  like  little  children.  Others  made  for 
the  corridors  and  the  dark  of  the  campus. 
It  was  all  over  forever.  There  was  no  more 
Ninety-blank  ! 

Kate  had  sung  with  the  others.  When 
Alma  Mater  was  begun,  she  had  noticed  how 
the  hand  holding  one  of  hers  tightened  and 
how  the  voice  on  the  other  side  trembled. 


266  VASSAR  STORIES 

The  girl  opposite  was  looking  straight  down 
at  the  table,  the  light  showed  how  her  face 
quivered.  Kate  stopped  singing.  What 
had  she  missed  in  college  that  these  girls 
had  gained?  What  was  there  in  it  that 
made  them  love  it  so  passionately  ?  She 
had  taken  an  honor,  that  girl  over  there  with 
her  face  buried  in  the  shoulder  of  her  neigh- 
bor had  flunked  three  exams,  yet  the  other 
had  won  something  which  she  did  not  even 
understand.  Tears  rose  to  Kate's  own  eyes, 
not  for  what  she  was  losing,  but  for  what 
she  had  never  owned.  Was  she  a  stranger 
to  all  the  real  meaning  of  college  as  she  was 
to  the  sadness  of  this  night?  Was  it  noth- 
ing to  her  after  these  four  years  ?  Had  she 
none  of  it  to  call  her  own,  now  that  it  could 
never  come  back  ? 

The  responsibility  to  College  !  The  talk 
with  the  girls  and  Molly  Sunday !  And 
then  her  position  on  the  paper !  They  all 
flashed  into  her  mind,  and  stayed  there. 
Here,  at  least,  was  something  she  had 
caught  from  those  flying  years,  something 
as  much  hers  as  it  was  any  of  the  sorrowful 


BACCALAUREATE  267 

girls.  She  had  lost  —  she  knew  not  what  — 
only  that  it  seemed  very  beautiful  and  prec- 
ious to  the  others.  But  the  honor  of  the 
college,  the  power  to  raise  or  lower  its  name, 
was  hers  equally  with  them.  The  logic  of 
all  that  was,  to  her,  to  refuse  the  position, 
which  unworthy  herself  was  unworthy 
Vassar. 

She  walked  back  to  Main  behind  the 
silent,  dismal  groups  of  girls.  She  felt 
really  gay.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
knew  what  college  spirit  meant.  Once  in  a 
while  she  lamented  her  folly  inwardly  and 
she  smiled  derisively  at  it  all.  But  the 
happiness  remained. 

She  lighted  the  gas  and  began  to  pack 
for  an  early  departure.  No  girl,  however 
balanced  she  is  or  however  limited  her  time, 
thinks  of  packing  till  after  Class  Supper. 
Then  she  wrote  a  polite  note  to  the  editor, 
declining  his  offer. 

"Til  post  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing. No,  I  won't.  If  I  wait  till  then,  my 
common  sense  —  or  what's  left  of  it  after 
this  week  —  will  prevent  me.  If  I'm  not 


268  VASSAR  STORIES 

a  fool  right  away  now,  I'll  never  have  the 
courage  to  be  again." 

She  dressed  herself  carefully, —  Kate  would 
have  been  well-dressed  at  a  fire,  or  an  earth- 
quake even, —  and  crept  downstairs.  The 
night  had  gone,  day  had  not  yet  come.  It 
was  that  queer,  unreal  time  just  at  dawn. 
Kate  ran  down  the  path  to  the  Lodge  and 
out  along  the  road  to  Arlington  as  long  as 
her  breath  held  out.  After  that  she  walked 
swiftly  till  she  came  to  the  letter-box  by  the 
grocery  store.  She  dropped  the  letter  in 
the  box. 

"There!  it's  gone!"  she  said,  adding 
whimsically,  "  I  suppose  I  can  telegraph, 
c  Pay  no  attention  to  letter.  I  accept.' ' 

Broad  day  had  come  when  she  walked 
slowly  up  from  the  Lodge.  The  reaction 
from  her  exciting  week  was  beginning  to 
steal  over  her,  she  was  dead  tired.  She 
stood  still  on  the  walk.  Old  Main  was 
before  her,  silent,  big,  impressive,  its  dark 
red  sides  hidden  under  thick  green  ivy,  its 
towers  beginning  to  gleam  with  the  first 
touch  of  the  sun. 


BACCALAUREATE  269 

You  might  fight  against  it,  or  you  might 
ignore  it,  but  in  the  end  College  would 
conquer  you,  "  to  have  and  to  hold "  al- 
ways. Kate  laughed  out  at  the  thought  like 
a  little  girl,  then  whispered,  with  an  actual 
blush,  Molly's  words  :  — 

"  I  just  love  old  Vassar." 


PRINTED  BY  GEO.  H.  ELLIS 
AT  ^^•z,  CONGRESS  STREET 
BOSTON,  FOR  RICHARD 
G.  BADGER  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON 


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